


Ice Crew Please!

by rosepetals42



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, Found Family, Gen, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/rosepetals42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.</p><p>He’s not, of course. </p><p>Enter the Ice Crew.</p><p>  <em>AKA: The Ice Crew AU</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ice Crew

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I apologize that this is a tumblr sorta!fic turned into real fic. I really do try to keep these off AO3, but it is 30k so... it does belong on AO3. I'm going to leave it in it's original format for now because... well, you guys didn't seem to mind too much with the Dan Erikson fic and I'd rather write more new stuff than edit previously-published things.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

So, in the fic-world of the Ice Crew AU, a few things are different: Namely, Jack did not overdose on anti-anxiety medication. Which means he did go first in the draft and is playing hockey professionally at 18 - except it’s not for the Aces; the Falconers had the first pick that year and so that’s where Jack is. It’s been a couple years so you have: Jack Zimmermann, age 21ish, professional Hockey Player in Providence.

And Jack Zimmermann is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

In case you don’t know (as I didn’t until last night), the Ice Crew is in charge of coming onto the ice during the game (like when there is a time-out or stop in play?) and skating around and attempting to get as much loose ice off the rink with shovel-looking things and a trashcan. Then there are also zambonis that come out between the periods. Further research tells me that the Ice Crew is usually a very lucky local hockey team who is totally jazzed to be able to skate on the same ice as the NHL team and gets paid in t-shirts.

Because this is fic, we’re going to do this a little differently. In this _alternate_ universe, the Ice Crew is a collection of young adults who get paid barely over minimum wage to not only work the NHL games but also keep the ice in good condition for most of the day - for practice, other events, for when the college team comes and plays on it, etc. They are also in charge of cleaning the locker rooms and the penalty boxes and making sure all the equipment is put away.

Now, I think we can all guess who is in our Ice Crew, but let’s go over them anyway:

Shitty Knight, a bright young man who would be at college in Harvard (instead of the local community college, Samwell) except there was a fateful dinner in which his father informed him “you wouldn’t be anywhere without me or my money” and followed it up with a condescending chuckle and so Shitty cut himself off and decided to prove him wrong. Shitty is taking classes when he can afford it and wears pants when he is forced to.

Larissa “Lardo” Duan, a struggling artist who was doing the stereotypical “struggle whilst working in a coffee shop” until she met Shitty Knight, who told her he at least earned a dollar over minimum wage working at Faber. She can’t skate but is straight up _wicked_ with the Zamboni. She seems to be the only one on the ice crew with any sort of organizational abilities so she runs the equipment room when not doodling over... everything.

Ransom and Holster, a pair of bros also attending Samwell Community College because Ransom had a nervous breakdown during his SATs so he is staying there until he can work through his test anxiety and because Holster used to play hockey in the Q before he got injured (knee) and figured he should ease himself back into academia. (The two met their first day of orientation and have been inseparable ever since.)

Dex, whose family lives nearby and who started working at the rink purely because he needs to help his family with money. Didn’t know how to skate at first but learned and now is actually pretty good. His passion makes up for any technical deficiencies. He hasn’t signed up for classes at Samwell yet, fairly convinced that college is useless and not for him, but the others are making it seem like it might be a good thing, especially if he doesn’t actually plan on taking over his family’s hardware store...

Nursey, a freshman at the local private college and who is the only one of the bunch who technically does not need this job _at all_ but who prefers hanging out with the ice crew to the people in his classes. He and Dex clashed a _lot_ at the beginning, but now the others on the ice crew think that they might be friends? maybe? Dex has actually been to Nursey’s house so there’s that.

Chowder, came out east for the same college at Nursey and stopped by at the rink because he _loves_ skating and never really left. Shitty eventually convinced him that he should at least get paid for helping.

And (don’t worry, I didn’t forget) Eric R. Bittle, who turned up at the rink about a year ago with nothing but a hockey bag stuffed with clothes (and a rolling pin), $50 bucks, and a southern accent so strong and dripping with exhaustion that Shitty had _immediately_ asked where Bitty was staying, seen through his halting lie of finding a motel, and brought him to the Haus where he, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster stay. Bitty’s story - being kicked out of his parent’s home for being gay and cut off before he left for college - came out in little hints and clues even though he has never told any of the boys directly. They also have the decency not to ask.

(Oh, also there’s Johnson. He also lives in the house and works on the Ice Crew part-time but when asked what led him to this career, shrugs and says he’s “gotta follow the medium, man. It’s going to make sense in a few k. Promise.”)

 

* * *

 

The Ice Crew should technically have very, _very_ little interaction with the NHL superstars. They watch the game from a backroom, they skate out and clean the ice when given the signal and then Lardo and Shitty man one Zamboni while Ransom and Holster get the second one during the breaks between the periods. Bitty and Chowder clean the area of one goal while Nursey and Dex do the other. Every once and awhile, a few of the players skate onto the ice before they are quite done and some grunt out a “thanks, man” (the Canadians, tbh) but that’s the extent of it.

Jack Zimmermann is often one of those who is sliding back onto the ice before they are finished and he is Canadian so a grunt that could be a “thanks” is there (unless the Falconers are losing) but the hero-worship has long worn off. Because Jack Zimmermann sometimes calls them back to scrape away more ice (and look, they do as much as they can in freakin’ 3 minutes!) and he never really looks at any of them and, really the ice crew sorta hates Jack Zimmermann.

Not for those reasons though. (Well, a little bit those reasons but almost all of the NHL Superstars do those things so being ignored unless you are being told to do your job better? Par for the course). The main reason that the Ice Crew sorta hates Jack Zimmermann is that he never freaking _leaves_.

He doesn’t leave after practices. He talks to the coaches and all the other Falconers leave to go get lunch and live lives like regular people but no, not Jack Zimmermann. Jack Zimmermann eats a sandwich that he packed from home in the box and then skates back out onto the ice and sometimes practices shots, usually just glides around and the whole ice crew is forced to just sit and watch from the tunnels. Even though one of the terms of their agreement is that the Ice Crew can mess around on the ice whenever it’s not being used and practice for the little community hockey team that they are all technically on (even though they get no funding and so very rarely get to go play actual games). But they can’t exactly go throw _Jack Zimmermann_ off the ice (that would get them so fired so fast it is honestly alarming) so they are all just stuck, waiting around for him to finish so that they can skate around themselves with enough time to make sure the rink is pristine for the game that night. Sometimes they barely get 45 minutes in. Because Jack Zimmermann is there. Just skating around as if he owns the place. So then they have to push their practice to after their night shift.

Of course, that’s not even be the worst of it. Because sometimes after games, Zimmermann goes into the locker room, into the press room, and then sometimes _comes back onto the ice_ to just skate around and think and the ice Crew had discovered this because they all got _reamed out_ for leaving the ice a mess for the Falconers early practice the next day. Because it is their job to leave the ice in perfect condition. So, again, when a 7pm game ends at almost 10 and then Jack Zimmermann gets out of press at 10:30 (or 11 if it’s a big game) and then comes _back onto the ice_ that means that the ice crew has to stay up and wait for him.

It is, of course, one of these nights that the ice crew finally interacts with Falconers captain, Jack Laurent Zimmermann. It’s nearing on 11:45 and they’ve already sent Dex, Nursey, and Chowder home because Nursey and Chowder have class in the morning and Dex is opening his uncle’s shop. Lardo is curled up in a seat asleep, Bitty blinking drowsily like he wants to be, his accent coming out with a force that he usually never allows it; even Holster’s recap of the latest Brooklyn 99 has started slurring together; Ransom is staring down at his bio textbook but hasn’t turned a page in twenty minutes; and Shitty is exhausted and actually a little bit sick (though he won’t admit it) and--

“Hey!” He says, standing and striding forward. “Bro, _seriously,_ you fucking _won the game_!”

In a moment, the Ice Crew is awake. Bitty is sitting next to him and tries to grab him but Shitty is moving now and Jack Zimmermann has frozen near where Shitty is coming towards him.

“He’s gonna get _killed_ ,” Ransom says, apparently too stunned to do anything. “Holster-”

“Holy shit! Shitty!”

Shitty isn’t stopping though.

“Like, c’mon, we already cleaned it once and I understand you need to like _commune with the ice_ , but you have people who are stuck waiting for you! I feel like we have a check your privilege situation here, honestly, and--”

“What?” Zimmermann asks and he’s taller than Shitty is, especially on skates and Holster maybe could stand up to him but he is having difficulty getting off and around the seats (which are way too small for him and then Ransom is clinging to him) and so it’s Bitty that gets himself in front of Shitty first.

“He didn’t meant it!” He squeaks. God Shitty is going to get _fired_. “He didn’t, just--”

“I did!” Shitty says. “Dude, you have _five people_ waiting to clean up after you and you’re not even sticking to one section of ice!”

“Which is fine!” Bitty says, pushing Shitty back with one hand and holding the other out as if exactly afraid Jack is going to swing at him. “We all like waiting. Hand to god, love it, Mr. Zimmermann so you can just carry right on there. C’mon, Shitty, let’s just let the nice man continue his job which he is paid _millions of dollars to do_.”

“How much a man is paid should not make his time more valuable than ours!” Shitty protests. Luckily at this point, Ransom and Holster have made it over and are much more adept at dragging him away. “We are human beings! We don’t even get overtime for this! We deserve--”

“So sorry,” Bitty says again. Jack Zimmermann is still staring at them. His face does not appear to have changed from its default setting of ‘confused and judgmental.’ “If you could not mention this funny little outburst to the ice manager, we would all be extremely grateful and-- pie! I could bake you a pie!”

“His pies are really good, bro,” Holster says, clapping one hand over Shitty’s mouth when he tries to say something. “Real good.”

“Won the county fair no less than five years running down in Georgia, sir,” Bitty says, backing away slowly. “What’s your favorite? Apple? Pumpkin? I’m not a fan of cherry but I’ll make it- you know what, I’ll bring you one of all of them. Boy like you probably skates up quite an appetite. Not that we mind! The skating! Real good skating, great game, okay, now we’re just gonna-”

“Wait.”

Oh Lord. This is it. They are all going to be fired by Jack Zimmermann a few days before rent on their shit house is due. Bitty once spent 4 nights sleeping on benches and it’s not something he is keen to do again and, heavens, they are going to have to find a place for all Lardo’s art!

“You really… do you really have to stay and clean the ice when I leave?”

Bitty cannot follow what Jack Zimmermann is doing. He sounds… concerned?

“Well… yes,” he says. “Or come early before y’all practice but that’s…”

“It’s usually fine, dude,” Holster says. “But… it is almost midnight. And my boy Ransom here has a test tomorrow.”

“And even I can’t study anymore!” Ransom says. Shitty makes a muffled sound of protest.

“But still _fine_ ,” Bitty says. “We’re happy to--”

“No,” Jack Zimmermann says. “No, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Um… I can… stay? And help?”

“See!” Shitty has broken free of Holster’s grasp. “Bro, I knew this was just a simple case of ignorance, not deep-seated prejudice or unconcern for your fellow man. Knowing is half the battle.” Jack now looks like he doesn’t quite know what language Shitty is speaking but that’s okay. Almost no one know exactly what Shitty is saying in situations like these.

“That’s very kind but we do _not_ need your help, sir,” Bitty says. “If you are really sure about leaving and that’s okay, then you just head out. We have a system. It only takes us about thirty minutes these days.”

“LARDO, GO GET THE ZAMBONI STARTED,” Holster hollers. “ZIMMS IS LEAVING.”

“I’ll go grab the other,” Ransom says. “If you’ll do the boxes, Bits?”

“Of course,” Bitty replies.

“Are you sure-” Jack Zimmermann tries.

“Absolutely,” Bitty says, gliding towards where the others are heading. “If you just make sure you have all your things, it’s just a quick wipe down and we’ll be out of here in no time. You go. Enjoy the rest of your night!”

And so the ice crew jumps into action and Jack Zimmermann grabs the rest of his stuff, for the first time noticing that the locker room has been wiped down and it’s not that he didn’t realize that happened sometime between the games and practice he just never thought of who did it. Or when.

And so he gets into his car and drives to his house feeling like shit and forty minutes later, the ice crew piles into _their_ car, feeling like shit only because they are exhausted and, really, that should be the end of it.

*^*^*^

Except it’s not. Because Jack Zimmermann is many things - a famous NHL player, the son of Bad Bob, winner of the Calder Trophy, and often accused of being a hockey robot - but rude is not one of them. His mother did not raise him like that. And it rubs at him. The idea that this pack of guys who operate as the Ice Crew think he is.

He starts in the locker room: “Hey, does anyone know how to get in touch with the ice crew?” And he gets a lot of blank stares from his teammates and one of them asks if he’s missing something but he shrugs off their questions, practices with his team, and the asks the coaches if they know the ice crew at all.

“Um, no, why?” Coach Hall says, frowning at him. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Jack says. “No, I just wanted to--” He fumbles. Thank them seems too gimmicky and he doesn’t want to cause any alarm. “Talk to them.” He finishes lamely. He prays they don’t ask what about.

Luckily, his reputation of being awkward and silent saves him because the coaches shrug and seem to accept it as one of those things.

“Well, we don’t know how to get in touch with them,” Murray says. “But if you hang around, they should be here to clean the ice after practice in a moment.”

Oh.

And now Jack feels even more stupid. Of course, they have to clean the ice after _practice_ too.

“And I think they have a break room?” Hall says. “Right? Somewhere around here. Pretty near the tunnel, I’d guess.”

And so Jack is off and he would have previously said that he knows ice rinks better than anyone in the world but it takes him 10 minutes to find a little room close to the tunnels marked “SWASOME ROOM” and he raises his hand to knock on the door before just pushing it open.

Inside is the two large men from last night. Both are sprawled in plastic chairs, ESPN playing in the background, another TV that is piping the rink through to them (almost empty now) and the room is equipped with old-style metal lockers and a fridge that looks to be on its last legs.

Also, both of them look _exhausted_. So exhausted that they don’t immediately look up.

God, this is his fault.

“Bitty made pie,” the taller blond one says, head still resting in one hand, eyes closed. “It’s basically gone but there might still be a slice.”

“Uh,” Jack starts. Luckily that noise is enough. Both jerk awake and stare at him and--

“Holster,” one says, leaning back. “And I dreaming that Jack Zimmermann is standing here or--?”

“Not a dream,” Holster replies. “Unless we are sharing. Again.”

“No, it’s-” Jack clears his throat. He feels like he did when he first got drafted to the Falconers. Odd, unsure, and like newbie. “I just came to apologize.”

“For what?” Holster says.

“For keeping you up last night,” Jack replies. “I mean, for…” he goes to jerk his head in their direction and then stops. He doesn’t want to tell them they look terrible.

“Oh, bro, don’t worry about that. This--” Holsters waves a hand around his face. “Isn’t you.”

“Mhhmm,” Ransom agrees. Or at least Jack thinks he’s agreeing, halfway through it sort of just turns into a hum. His eyes have slid shut again.

“ _Someone_ \- someone being Ransom here - decided that in fact he _could_ study more and stayed up til 4am making a new set of flashcards even though the old ones were _perfectly fine_.”

“They were incomplete!” Ransom says, coming to life for another moment. “They didn’t incorporate any of the--”

“Shut up,” Holster says good naturedly. “Go back to sleep. We’re on in twenty.”

To all appearances, Ransom obeys and Holster turns to Jack. “Test anxiety,” he explains. “Can be a pain when you’re stuck rooming with the guy but… he’s a genius. Gonna be a great doctor someday.”

Jack nods because that seems to be the polite thing to do.

“But, yeah, don’t worry about it. We usually stay up that late anyway. Shitty was just being…” he waves a hand. Unlike the other one, Jack doesn’t know what this one means. Or what the hell Shitty is.

“Shitty?” He asks.

“Guy with the mustache,” Holster explains.

“Oh,” Jack says and then because it seems Shitty would be more interested in an apology, “Is he here?”

“No, he’s not coming,” Holster says and it’s probably because of the small blond boy from yesterday and his obvious fear about Jack getting them fired, that is where Jack’s brain goes. That somehow someone had found out and the guy - Shitty - had gotten _fired_.

Of course as soon as he has the thought, Holster is continuing.

“Dude is hella sick. That’s probably why he was so grumpy yesterday. Bitty is making soup though so should be back by tomorrow.” Bitty must be the cute one from the South, Jack decides. He had babbled about pies last night. (Wait? Cute? What?)

“Oh,” Jack says. And then can’t think of a single other things to say. Holster appears to be sliding back to sleep. “Well, I’ll see you.”

“Sure thing, man,” Holster says and then there’s nothing else to do but leave. So Jack does. Wondering why he still feels like he’s missing something.

*^*^*^

Of course, on the ice crew end, this is another one-off conversation that won’t be repeating itself. The Falconers go on a string of away games (they win all but one of them) and they enjoy their time off by staying at the rink just as long as they usually would except fooling around a lot more. Chowder and Nursey are pissed that they missed Jack _Zimmermann_ and Shitty allows that he “seems like an okay dude once he examines how his actions affect others” but the conversation doesn’t last much longer than that. There are trick plays to try out and whenever they have the ice to themselves for a while, Bitty ends up trying to teach them figure skating tricks and so Jack Zimmermann fades to the background.

The Falconers come back and the ice crew hangs in the back and watches and cheers as they go up and then--

“Thank you,” Jack says as he skates over to where Bitty is trying to get the goal area clear. “Uh, Bitty, right?”

“Y-yes,” Bitty says.

“Thank you, Bitty,” Jack repeats, looking serious and Bitty gives himself one moment to stare because Jack Zimmermann had just thanked him by _name_ in the middle of a game but there’s no time to do much more than that.

It keeps happening. Jack Zimmermann runs into Ransom and Holster working on the Zamboni that is always breaking down and thanks them by name and then he walks into the weight room to find Dex and Nursey wiping everything down and he asks them their names and then thanks them and no one knows how he learned Chowder’s name but he gets thanks and then he manages to corner Shitty in the break room and both apologizes again and thanks him.

And he does not skate on the ice after games or practices anymore and when a reporter asks him for what he attributes the Falconers success with this year, he says “Well, the whole team is just really great. And, you know, I’d also like to thank people that I’m not sure get enough credit - the ice crew. The ice crew and really all those who work at this rink. We couldn’t do it without them.”

The boys (plus Lardo) are all obviously cleaning as he says this but Johnson had tivo-ed the game and shows it to them after ( _“time to push this narrative along, bros, trust me._ ”) and well… that’s nice.

And just like that Jack Zimmermann is off the shit list.

Chowder buys a jersey and everything.

*^*^*^

It’s late after a game when Jack Zimmermann really interacts with the ice crew again. It was a tough loss in overtime and he _knows_ that nothing he can do now will change it but the itch to get back on the ice and just go over a few of his shots is driving him crazy and he has a plan-

He didn’t go back after press, instead opting to hide in the weight room until 11pm and now, he is going to sneak onto the ice and then stick to a small section and then what he’ll do is get to practice _first_ tomorrow and go skate in that one section again so the ice crew won’t be blamed for it being messed up and one of these days he’s going to learn to drive a Zamboni. That way he can clean up after himself completely.

So, he has his plan and he personally thinks it’s a good one and then--

Then, as he walks out of the tunnel, he hears _laughter_ on the ice. And he pops his head out and squints at the lights and sees the ice crew playing hockey. On his ice.

Their equipment is all used, worn, and mismatched and there is only one goal set up and one of their sticks looks like it’s been _broken in half_ and then taped back together and even after freezing and watching for a solid two minutes, he cannot figure out what drill they are running but they--

They are laughing.

“Hey,” a voice says from the fifth row up. It’s the girl of the group. Jack hasn’t interacted with her because she drives the Zamboni and he is in the locker room for that part.

“Hi,” he says.

“They are allowed to be on the ice,” she tells him flatly, glaring at him. “Part of their payment, actually, they can use it anytime it’s not booked as long as they clean up after.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies. And then stands there. Like an idiot.

“Do you want to watch?”

“Well,” he starts. “I was going to--”

“Do you mind sharing?” She asks bluntly. He notices that kicking them off completely is not an option.

“No,” he says honestly. He spends his whole life skating around about twenty other dudes. Sure, he likes having the rink all to himself, especially after a loss but--

“GUYS!” The girl shouts. “ZIMMERMANN WANTS TO SHARE THE RINK.”

Her words cause a little bit of panic. Ransom and Holster (who seem to be playing d-men) run into each other, Chowder pops out of the goal, the short one who must be Bitty falls down. The only one who remains semi-calm is Shitty, who Jack can recognize easily by his long hair. He skates over, look at the girl as if silently communicating with her and then at Jack as if reading him and--

“Oh, gosh!” Bitty says, rising. “We can- we didn’t know--”

“You want the far side or near side?” Shitty asks simply.

“Far is fine,” Jack says. “If you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Shitty replies. And so Jack skates over and he hears the hushed conference that he leaves in his wake but ignores it. He’s long used to whispers. And they fade quickly.

So, he has half the rink and he tries to focus on re-taking the shots he missed and tweaking his wrist a little bit so that next time they will go in but he can’t. He’s too distracted. By the laughter and then the shrieking and the crashes and the chirping and it his least focused practice in years.

But he doesn’t complain. And when they pack up thirty minutes later, he does too so they won’t have to wait for him. And they wave off his help with the cleaning and he gets into his car and drives home alone. Just like every other night.

*^*^*^

Bitty bakes him a thank you pie and leaves it in his locker with a short note and it’s way too much pie for one person (especially when that person is on a NHL diet) so he only manages to eat about half of it before they go on a roadie and he has to thrown it out when he gets back.

For some reason, it makes him feel terrible. He almost apologizes when he sees Bitty next but he settles for saying “Thank you, it was delicious” and revelling in the way Bitty blushes just a little.

*^*^*^

This continues. When Jack wants to stay behind after a game, he waits until the ice crew has started practicing but then politely ignores them to do his own thing.

And then, almost five weeks after they’ve started this arrangement, Jack is doing some extra practice after practice and he hears someone clear their throat and sees Shitty waiting by the wall.

“So, feel free to say no,” Shitty starts. “But do you mind sharing the rink? We usually try to practice after you guys when there’s not a home game.”

A part of Jack wants to say that he _does_ mind. That he needs this time alone to focus and get better and _perfect_ things but he really doesn’t need the whole rink - his extra practice is usually just shots and some footdrill, no conditioning that would require going the entire length of the rink. When he glides around, it is usually mindlessly running over plays and he doesn’t need to do that across the whole rink. Though he does prefer it.

But, “No,” he says. “I don’t mind. I’ll take the far side.”

“Swawesome,” Shitty says, grinning at him. “We’ll be real fast, Ransom and I have a 5 o’clock class!”

“No problem,” Jack replies.

And it’s not. Aside from the distraction of the noise and the way he finds himself glancing over when there is a bout of laughter that is particularly loud, it’s not a problem at all.

He just has to grit his teeth and _focus_. So he does. He glares at the net and hits hard and furiously collects the pucks of his missed shots so he can try again and--

“Yo! YO!” From the sound of it, Shitty has been calling him a while. Jack realizes he’s breathing deeply and tries to stop it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Shitty says. “But just wanted to let you know that we’re heading out. You don’t have to worry about cleaning up, though. We’ve gotta come back around 8 to get this place ready for a charity thing anyway.”

“Oh,” Jack says. He’s still thinking about angles, to be honest. “Okay.”

Shitty goes to skate away and then looks back.

“You guys have off tomorrow,” he says.

“Y-yeah,” Jack replies. He has plans to finally call his parents and maybe cook enough food that he will have leftovers for the week. “We do.”

Shitty stares at him. It’s slightly unnerving but Jack is still panting.

“So you like hockey, right?” Shitty asks suddenly. Jack blinks and opens his mouth to say of course. Of course he likes hockey. He’s been doing it his whole life and he is very good at it and it’s all he’s ever wanted to do ever so yes.

He says it aloud just to prove it. “Yes.”

“Okay, well… if you want, we are practicing tomorrow at 11am,” Shitty says. “You should come skate with us. If you want. Chill more like. Nothing that will get you in trouble with your trainer.”

“Umm,” Jack starts. He… he had planned to just do cardio. He has a schedule. He likes it. “I don’t--”

“No pressure,” Shitty says. “Just if you feel like it.”

And then he _does_ skate away and-- _Don’t be silly,_ Jack tells himself. He is not going to go to play hockey with an ice crew. That makes no sense at all.

*^*^*^

The next morning, at 10:55am, Jack pulls up to Faber stadium, telling himself he is a complete idiot. He turns off the car and then turns it back on again to drive away and instead gets out and heads in. There is already yelling from the area around the ice.

_“I’m just saying that I think I deserved the last extra pancake! I killed that spider the other day!”_

_“Bro, you did not kill the spider. I literally saw it last night.”_

_“It came back to life. I had killed it!”_

_“I told y’all - whoever finds a cleaner fluid strong enough to get the mold off the tub gets the extra pancake for_ life _. I swear, when we all die young, it’s ‘cause of that monstrosity.”_

Jack walks in and, as usual, the conversation stops. He should be used to it because even the Falconers go respectfully quiet when he first enters in case he has a message from the coaches and only start up again when he sits down and starts getting ready but for some reason it just now occurs to him how much he hates that.

“I- I thought they had off,” Bitty whispers up at Holster.

“No, they do,” Shitty says. “I invited Jack here to come hang with us! Hey, bro, glad you could make it!”

Jack can’t help but wonder when the last time he was called “Jack” was. To the Falconers, he’s Zimms and to the media, he’s either that or Mr. Zimmermann, and to every other person he meets he is usually some combination of the two.

“Thanks,” he says, wishing his voice didn’t _always_ come out so monotone. “Uh, I can just sit and watch for a while if you want. I don’t want to disturb your practice.”

“Psh, c’mon,” Shitty says. “Get your skates on. It’s just hockey. Not that serious.”

To Jack, that phrase makes no sense. Hockey is always serious. But he is not going to argue.

Just like in his locker room, the banter gradually starts up again, though not at the same volume as before. He feels better when he gets on the ice and Lardo dumps a bucket of pucks onto the side and Jack gets one and everyone is passing and taking the occasional shot on goal for Chowder to try and stop and he doesn’t want to shoot but doesn’t know who to pass to and everyone is sort of quiet.

It’s stiff and awkward and _I’m ruining this_ , Jack thinks to himself. _I should leave and let them have fun._

But leaving now would be even more awkward and some things are automatic and so when he gets the puck next time, again, he just whips it towards the goal without thought and it goes in because… well, Jack plays professional hockey and Chowder is a community hockey goalie and Jack feels terrible but--

“Did you guys _see_ that!” Chowder says. He sounds excited. “That was _so_ fast!”

“Um,” Jack says.

“Bro,” Shitty says, but he doesn’t sound reproachful. “We are going to need to come up with some handicaps for you.”

“Left-handed!” Ransom yells. “Make him play left-handed!”

“Or, like, only shoot from center ice,” Nursey adds.

“Skate on one foot,” Dex says.

“Let’s start with the left-handed thing,” Shitty says with a smile. “But if you start making those shots we are banishing you to center ice.”

Jack smiles and switches hands and fumbles his next few passes getting used to it and in fact, he has to concentrate on it so much that he forgets to feel awkward and--

Jack plays professional hockey. Not only that, but he plays professional hockey on a team that won the _Stanley Cup_ last year so the Ice Crew is nowhere near the best players he’s shared the ice with. They are not all secret hockey talents but--

Holster and Ransom have a level of coordination on the ice that is downright _freaky_. Once he gets warmed up, Chowder turns into a somewhat terrifying goalie who drops in and out of splits like no one Jack has ever seen. Dex is pretty intimidating in a face-off and Bitty is the _fastest_ thing Jack has ever seen on the ice.

Shitty is actually pretty terrible but he laughs the loudest and comes up with crazy challenges that even Jack struggles to complete (because why would you ever need to skate while balancing a puck on the end of your stick??) and many impromptu races (that Bitty wins) and that’s before they start practicing “trick plays.”

The Falconers have a few trick plays that they like to try sometimes.

They are not like these.

The Ice Crew has a trick play where they try to hide Bitty behind Holster so when Holster veers off the goalie will watch him and miss the fact that Bitty still has the puck. They have another where Holster and Ransom link arms and form a “goal barrier” to try to block shots ( _based off soccer,_ Shitty tells him as Holster and Ransom both fall in the background. _We’re still working out the kinks_.) There is another one where the person closest to Bitty picks him up and _throws him_ and Dex and Nursey seem to be attempting to perfect one where Nursey slides through Dex’s open knees and it doesn’t seem to serve any purpose “except wouldn’t it be fucking nuts!” Shitty keeps trying to do a handstand, Bitty sometimes does spins and twirls ( _“he used to be a figure skater,”_ Chowder tells Jack. “ _Isn’t it so awesome!!”_ ), and Jack doesn’t realize it but about twenty minutes in he stops being so so worried about failing and relaxes.

When Shitty wipes out after trying to do a jump like Bitty, Jack laughs.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I see how it is,” Shitty grumbles, glaring at him with a smile in his eyes. “If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you give it a try?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bitty says. “Jack _Zimmermann_ is not going to--”

“Okay,” Jack says. “Bet I can land it before you do.” It’s gentle, as chirps and challenges go and he’s not sure he even did it right but Shitty laughs harder.

“Oh, _lord_ ,” Bitty says. “Well, just wait a minute, hold on, I got to at least tell you the basics before you go on and injure yourself and we all get fired.”

So then Jack spends twenty minutes being told how to properly jump and land ( _“not that you’ll really be able to on these dang hockey skates_ ”) and then he _falls_ (probably for the first time in years) and meanwhile all the other boys are doing it (and sometimes even landing the jump) and it takes Jack four tries.

He gets a rush of satisfaction that is almost unfamiliar.

Eventually, the boys do settle down for a more serious practice and Jack exits the rink for that (it is supposed to be his day off and being exhausted will not help his team) so he sits next to Lardo and she doesn’t say anything, merely hands him a piece of paper and a pen in case he wants to doodle like she is. But there’s a pile of books next to her that draws his attention. She follows his gaze.

“Shitty is taking a history class this semester,” she says, nodding towards them. “He reads them on the drive over and then our car doesn’t lock so he’s always afraid to leave them in there. Feel free to look through them. He won’t mind.”

Jack vaguely remembers liking history back when he went to school. He grabs the top one - _Guns, Germs, and Steel_ and starts at the beginning.

Forty-five minutes later, Lardo pokes him in the side.

“They’re all done,” she tells him. “They’ll fool around for another few minutes while cleaning up though if you want to head back out there.”

Jack nods and then goes to help.

He doesn’t let them wave him off this time. They all try- Bitty more than once - but he just stands there and then grabs a towel and spray and gets to it.

When they all drive away, it’s only been a little over two hours but to Jack it feels longer. Like something has changed.

Also, as he watches the five of them pile into one car (for some reason it seems Lardo is driving and Bitty called shotgun even though that means Holster, Ransom, and Shitty are all crammed in the back and, all told, it is a 5 minute production that involves a good amount of cursing and _please, bitty, we’re sorry about the pie!_ ), he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to go with them.

He also can’t help wonder if maybe they could be friends.

*^*^*^

The answer to that, of course, is no.

Because, again, the Falconers go on the road and then when they get back they lose, _badly_ , and Jack doesn’t even realize he didn’t bother to say thank you to _any_ of them, not even when he passed them on the ice until afterwards. He sits under the shower for ten minutes and tells himself he is going to suck it up and apologize when they are all on the ice together later tonight but then when he finally frees himself of the press, the rink is empty.

It’s a relief, if he’s being honest. He needed time alone tonight and when he finally does skate off the ice, he feels better. Maybe not good. But better.

It’s short-lived. Because as he heads back to his locker room, he hears a slight murmur from the break room and he hesitates and he wouldn’t say he’s _waiting_ to see if they are watching him and waiting for him to finish before they come out but he lingers.

His half-formed hypothesis was right. After a moment, he hears “ _C’mon, dudes, he’s cleared out_ ” and then “ _Oh, I do hope he feels better._ ” And then the door is opening and Jack being the idiot that he is has forgotten to walk away.

“Sorry,” he says automatically. “For--”

“Dude, don’t worry about it,” Holster says. “It was a rough game.”

“Really rough,” Bitty adds. “Some of those checks looked _brutal_.” His hands are wringing together nervously as he talks and Jack thinks he might be nervous for _him_ but that makes no sense so he just sort of nods and they all start moving away.

“You didn’t have to stay off the ice,” Jack says, to Shitty as the others stride ahead. He doesn’t want them to think that.

“Sure we did,” Shitty says, gripping Jack’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “It’s okay, bro. Stop stressing.”

*^*^*^

Of course, Jack continues to stress about it because Jack is _Jack_. He keeps stressing about it even when the boys glide onto his post-practice practice as if nothing has changed and he stresses about it when they do the same after the next game and--

Finally, he goes to management and asks them if the ice crew gets overtime.

He dislikes the answer, which boils down to: No, but they all get pretty much a full 40 hours during the season, which is a lot better than most minimum-wage jobs, and they are allowed to use the rink free of charge so-- what do you mean this is unacceptable, Mr. Zimmermann? Most of the game they are sitting and watching anyway!

“Take it out of my pay,” he tells them and he doesn’t need to see their faces to know he is acting like a crazy person. “I’m serious. Time and a half for overtime. I will not accept this.”

 _ **Jack Zimmermann fights for overtime pay for Providence Ice Crew**_ **,** reads a tiny headline on NHL.com. Jack is furious that even that got out (even though he knows the Falconers are always looking for a way to humanize him) and he lives in fear of one of the guys saying something but--

“Don’t worry,” Johnson tells him. (Jack isn’t sure when Johnson actually works at the rink though he does live with them. Johnson played goalie in college and is extra strange. Even for a goalie.) “It’s exam season and none of them read nhl.com that often anyway. Also, I made sure to crash our internet for thirty-six hours. Everyone loves the secret good-guy trope you’ve got going. Your secret is safe with me.”

“... thanks,” Jack tells him.

“Don’t want to rush the story,” Johnson replies. “Though, damn, this is getting long, isn’t it? You can see why the comic had most of these relationships already established.”

Jack nods, though, really he has no idea what the hell Johnson is talking about.

*^*^*^

Two weeks later, after another practice with the Ice Crew, Jack is invited out to lunch.

“We’re celebrating!” Bitty tells him. Unlike Shitty, Bitty had taken a little while to warm up to him (aka to stop stammering whenever Jack was around) but Jack thinks they are finally there. The thought puts a warm buzz in his stomach that he doesn’t let himself examine. “We are actually going to get to play a _game_.”

“And the league of dentists is going _down_!” Holster says, throwing an arm around Jack. They all do that now (except Bitty, who seems to avoid most of the wrestling that breaks out. Which makes sense, he is very small.).

“When is it?” Jack asks. “And where?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Shitty replies. “Over in CT. By Hartford. The league is pretty small so there’s a lot of travel.”

“Cool,” Jack says, realizing with a sinking gut that the Falconers have been home for almost two weeks and are due to head to the South. He won’t be able to go. “You sure you don’t mind if I come to lunch?”

“Of course not!” Bitty says. “We’re going to a _great_ little sandwich shop. You’ll love it.”

Jack does.

Not only because of the sandwiches (which are delicious) but because all nine of them cram into a booth meant maybe for 6 and he’s cramped and Nursey spills his coke on him and everyone talks over everyone and it occurs to him that he is smiling the whole time.

And listens the whole time. And then talks too.

He learns about Holster’s injury that led to him getting knocked from the Q ( _“Do not show him your scar at the table, Holster, or so help me_ ”) and, to Jack, that is his literally worst nightmare come true but Holster seems fine with it (“ _was always going to be at the bottom of any NHL team, man, and now I get to try a bunch of different things.”_ ). He gets an epic tale of Shitty’s fall out with his father that the boy’s have clearly heard before because sometimes they come in with him and he gets to see some of Lardo’s artwork (she has pictures on her phone) and when asks if he prefers the west to the east coast, Chowder goes on a ramble that bounces between both sides.

Bitty tells him that he is from Georgia and had planned to make it all the way to Boston “to find myself a boy that looked like Chris Evans” (he says this part with a little glare of challenge and around him, the others tense up and Jack knows instinctively that he is not supposed to react and so he doesn’t. Just nods. Know that he can’t say anything about also not turning down a boy that looks like Chris Evans but almost wants to.) “but got stuck here with these crazies instead.”

The whole time he worries constantly that he is going to say the wrong thing or ask the wrong questions and offend someone but if he does, no one says anything.

It occurs to him that they are friends. That he is friends with them and he likes them and more surprisingly, they like _him._

It’s been a long time since Jack had friends instead of teammates.

(A part of him wonders if he ever did.)

*^*^*^

The Ice Crew wins their game.

Jack gets to hear all about it from Shitty while is a very strange experience because it sort of sounds like he might be talking about sex but it’s funny all the same. And the ice crew doesn’t go away or fade out or even stick to talking to him only at practices.

One day when Jack is struggling through press (they had won but it wasn’t a very clean win) and then he looks up to see Ransom, Holster, and Shitty in the back of the room, making ridiculous faces. And he can’t help but smile a little and then Shitty glances around quickly before _mooning_ him and it’s all he can do not to laugh.

So, the next time Jack is on the ice after a win, he skates over and joins their practice rather than taking shots alone.

The next time the Falconers lose, Jack makes a point to go to the break room and tell everyone they should join him and after half an hour joins them on their side of the ice.

He stresses that night about how this isn’t taking the game seriously anymore and how he is going to start making mistakes and letting his team down but then Shitty’s voice is in his head saying: “Dude, you gotta go with the flow” and see Bitty looking up at him and smiling, muttering “Jesus, but shouldn’t you be taking a break?” he falls asleep.

When they are up 3-0, Shitty actually slaps him on the ass as he skates by mid-game. Jack just smiles. He can hear Ransom and Holster’s laughter and Bitty’s _“Shitty! You did not!_ ” from where he is standing and the next time the ice crew comes out, Jack does the same to Shitty.

 _“Boys_ ,” Bitty says. _“Y’all are supposed to be professionals._ ”

*^*^*^

“Jack,” Bitty says as they Zamboni the ice after practice one day. (Jack had been serious about wanting to learn but he’s not sure Bitty is the best teacher. He thinks he needs to convince Lardo to teach him. Bitty keeps talking about pies. And Jack keeps getting distracted by staring down at the way Bitty’s hair curls in around his ears but that’s neither here nor there.).

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to come to Thanksgiving?”

Jack blinks.

“Just if you don’t have other plans,” Bitty says, voice jumping into a ramble. “Last year, I ended up cooking enough for about twenty people even though it was just six of us so there will be plenty of food. Plus no one does holidays like the Bit-- like people from the south do.”

Jack is supposed to go spend American Thanksgiving with his parents because that’s when the league gets a break so he already has his flight booked for home. So, “no” is the easy answer here.

“Let me check,” he says instead.

And he does. He calls his parents and asks if they would be okay with him staying down in Providence and “doing Thanksgiving with some friends” this year and on the other line, both his parents go very, very quiet.

“Oh, with the Falconers?” Alicia tries first. Her voice sounds slightly strangled. Jack doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Uh, no,” Jack says. His father takes a breath as if he is going to say something but then stops. “I- I’ve actually been hanging out with the ice crew.”

For some reason, spoken aloud it sounds ridiculous. That he, a NHL player, is hanging out with the guys who essentially clean up after him. His parents’ silence seems to confirm the fact. And suddenly Jack is half-angry, half-desperate.

“They are really cool guys,” Jack says, hoping he’s not coming across as defensive. “We, uh, well we got to talking at the beginning of the season and they are closer to my age so, uh, they invited me to come to their house for Thanksgiving.”

His parents are quiet for another beat and Jack cannot begin to figure out what that means and he is about to give in and just say “Forget it” to this whole thing but-

“That’s great!” His mother sounds entirely too chipper. “Oh, Jack, that’s… of course you should stay.”

“With your friends,” His father adds. His voice sounds oddly rough. Jack hopes he isn’t getting sick. “You just stay down there and hang out with your friends.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “Thanks.”

“But!” Alicia says, quickly as if she were afraid he was going to hang up. He not usually _that_ abrupt. “But we want to hear about them. This is the first you’ve mentioned them.”

Jack blinks.

“Er,” he says. “Okay, well, I guess I met Shitty first. That’s his name, well, not his real name but he’s 21 too and right now he’s taking a history class and lets me read his books when he’s done with them. They are interesting and--”

Jack’s conversations with his parents are usually quick check-ins. Sometimes he’ll talk to his dad about the games and his mom always likes to hear that he’s doing okay but they don’t last very long.

This one is over an hour.

He thinks he ends up talking about Bitty the most but he doesn’t really keep track.

*^*^*^

Jack is pretty sure he has the wrong address. Because he is pretty sure the building in front of him is technically condemned. Or should be. He would take his two bottles of wine and turn around except Beyonce is filtering through the walls (too easily, to be honest) and he recognizes the junky Saab parked outside.

So he walks up to the front door and knocks and--

“Jack!” Ransom says. “You made it! Come in!”

“Do _not_ take off your shoes,” Holster says, popping out from over Ransom’s shoulder. “One time Bitty tried to clean this floor and it started _disintegrating_.”

Jack nods and he’s a little nervous as he steps into the house (the Haus, as they call it) but it’s…

It’s terrible if you look at the actual _house_ but the mismatching sofas at least look comfy and it’s tidy and there’s curtains that make it look homey.

It feels more like a home than Jack’s much larger place that he does not share with six people. That may be because of the clutter only semi-neatly tucked away, it's probably because whatever Bitty is cooking smells _amazing._ Jack says as much as then he is being pulled into the kitchen where he gets only a wave from Bitty because he is busy and--

“Holster, I swear if you sneak one more bite of food before this is done, I am going to have your head,” Bitty snaps. “In fact, that’s enough. Everyone out of my kitchen!”

Jack wants to stay and help but he gets pulled away by Shitty (“Bits is mad intense about his holidays, bro. Best to just stay out of his way.”) and plopped down on the couch.

“So you guys all stay down for the holidays too?” Jack says, trying to start casual conversation more than anything.

“Well, going to my parents’ involves wearing a freaking _suit_ and hearing hour long lectures about how I’m wasting my life,” Shitty supplies with a shrug. “Chowder’s live too far away, he should be over any second, and--”

“Bitty cooks much better than my mom,” Holster says, but there’s an edge to his casualness that Jack can’t really place. Ransom nods stiffly in agreement.

“Yeah, totally.”

“Lardo is up with her parents, though,” Shitty says. “Same with Nursey and Dex. And Johnson. I think. Actually, I don’t really know where Johnson went.”

“And Bitty?” Jack tries with a smile. “Does he stick around just to cook for you guys?” He expects a laugh for it because Bitty is constantly saying how the others are terrible cooks and the boys are always trying to defend themselves (“We survived for almost a full year before you turned up on our doorstep, Bitty!”) but instead he gets awkward uncomfortable silence.

The three sort of look at each other and Jack wants to apologize but doesn’t know exactly what he did wrong so--

“Look,” Shitty starts, sounding serious. “Whatever you do, don’t bring up--”

“See!” Bitty says, bounding into the room. “I told y’all I just needed thirty seconds to put on the finishing touches. Now where’s Chowder?”

“I’ll call him!” Ransom says, a hair too fast to be considered normal. Bitty sort of blinks at him and then accepts it.

“Family,” Shitty hisses at him as they all rise to move to the kitchen area where Bitty has set up a folding table just for the event. “Don’t ask about family.”

So Jack doesn’t (he doesn’t really get the chance because Chowder arrives and they eat and talk and they break out the wine) but he does watch.

He notices how often Bitty checks his phone during dinner and the way he _lights up_ when it rings, only to dim a little bit when it’s a very drunk Lardo. He notices that the whole table very carefully avoids any and all talk of family even though there are a few openings that they all just skirt around. He notices that Bitty’s smile gets a little forced as the night goes on and when Jack, Ransom, Holster, and Chowder start the clean-up and Bitty disappears into the living room, Jack notices that Shitty follows him.

He peaks in as he’s clearing the table and so he sees Shitty bundle Bitty up into a hug, plucking his phone from his hands as he does so and stashing it in his back pocket and just _holding_ him.

Jack doesn’t think he’s the only one to notice that when Bitty returns “ _to help y’all actually put stuff back correctly”_ his smile is forced and his eyes look a little red but he is sensible enough not to say anything.

All in all though, it’s a great evening. Nursey and Dex show up around nine with more wine pillaged from Nursey’s house and they all pile into the living room to watch the game and Jack gets the tour of the Haus. (Technically 3 bedrooms; Bitty and Lardo share one, Shitty and Johnson have the other two and then Ransom and Holster cleared out the attic). None of it looks particularly safe (“ _Shitty somehow has stopped it from being condemned and when you go upstairs, don’t step on the X in red duct tape, your foot will literally crash right through”_ ) and a part of Jack is honestly concerned he may die (or at the very least get some sort of disease) but, in the end, he’s sad to leave.

*^*^*^

It’s not that Jack doesn’t like the other players on the Falconers. He does like them. But many of them are considerably older than he is and he is the captain so the ones that are his age treat him with a level of respect that makes friendship difficult and Jack knows that he hasn’t helped the situation. He came to Providence and worked hard and played great hockey and that seemed to be what everyone wanted so he worked harder and tried to play _better_ hockey and he likes his teammates and they respect him while affectionately calling him “a hockey robot” and that doesn’t _bother_ Jack, per se, but it’s…

It’s nice to just be Jack. To be respected for something other than hockey.

The Ice Crew respects him when he finally learns to drive the Zamboni successfully and they are impressed when he has done all the same history readings as Shitty and can hold his own in a debate over tactics during the Civil War. They laugh with him when he starts chirping them and smile when he starts making jokes and when he finally gets good enough at left-handed shots to hit a goal against Chowder, they cheer as if he has just won the Stanley Cup.

They most they ever say about the Providence Falconers is a quick congratulations after their wins and nods of sympathy when they lose.

When Jack is on the road for away games, he misses them.

Over Christmas break, they add him to the Group Chat and he had _wanted_ to invite at least Shitty and Bitty up to Canada for the break because context clues told him that they would be spending it alone but every time he tries, the words got caught in this throat and then all he could think about what how his family lived in a freakin’ _mansion_ and the Ice Crew had done a Secret Santa and capped the presents at $20 so all Jack could give Bitty was a set of hockey-themed cookie cutters instead of the figure skating skates that he knew Bitty would just _love_. (He buys them anyway and tells himself there will be no price limit on birthday spending.)

(He’d gotten a bobblehead of _himself_ from Holster. It’s sitting on his desk even though it freaks him out a little.)

So he doesn’t invite them and then regrets it and winds up texting the whole time he is home. He smiles at the pictures of Shitty and Bitty setting up the Haus for Christmas and laughs at the pictures of Holster’s family (all blond, too tall, and sporting identical grins) and he can’t help when Nursey and Chowder start freaking out about what to buy their parents for Christmas but he tries.

(Bitty gets a new haircut too. The sides are shaved and Jack thinks it might be called an "undercut" based on context clues from the Group Chat. Jack likes it. It... it suits him somehow. Or maybe Bitty is just really good at taking selfies. Either way, Jack ends up look at the picture more than once.)

He books a flight early and meets up with them for New Years. Bitty is still too young to go to bars so they hunker down in the Haus - Lardo, Holster, and Ransom made it back from break - and Shitty kisses _everyone_ at midnight.

*^*^*^

In January, for the first time in his life, Jack learns something about himself through the media. He sees his name on the Sportscenter sidebar and is prepared to change the channel because a lifetime of hearing his name on ESPN means he knows it’s probably going to be crap but he is eating a what’s left of a maple-crusted apple pie that Bitty made him and can’t be bothered to find the remote so--

“Now, Chris,” one of the anchors starts. “Let’s talk about Jack Zimmermann.”

“Great player,” Chris says. “Great, great player, John, but as you know, often accused of being… I don’t know the word. Distant? Intense?”

“I believe the phrase his teammates use is ‘hockey robot,” John replies with a laugh. “The kid puts up incredible stats and the fans love him because, _damn,_ can that boy play some hockey but the PR guys at the Providence Falconers must have a hell of a time trying to get him to have a personality!”

“As a captain, he has to do the press, obviously,” Chris says and Jack feels tension settle in his gut. He _knows_ he’s bad with people. Unless it’s about hockey he just sounds _stupid_ and-- “It has been rough. After they _won the Cup_ , this guy looked happy for all of maybe five minutes.”

“But!” John says. “But apparently, word on the street - or the rink, if you will, is that that is _changing_.”

“I know! I know!” Chris says. “For those who haven’t been following the Falconers - and I don’t know why you’re not, they have a _good_ chance of getting back-to-back cup wins - but if you haven’t, something pretty amazing has been happening. Let’s take a look.”

And a montage of Jack’s more recent games pops on the screen and Jack frowns because he has no idea what they are talking about and all the clips are good - him scoring and celebrating after, a particularly sweet assist he had just the other day, another point and a celly in which he tried to do a little spin like Bitty had taught him, him smiling as the buzzer rings and they win again.

He has no idea what they are talking about. It looks like a perfectly typical highlight reel of hockey.

“See that!” Chris says. “Do you see what I mean?”

“I do,” John says, smiling. “But I’ve been following Zimmermann for years so for the folks at home…”

“Well, Jack Zimmermann is known as this emotionless hockey robot,” Chris explains. “But for the past few months, he’s been… well, he looks like he’s enjoying himself, John.”

“It’s almost like he likes hockey!” John says. “Seriously, watch his celebrations these days- wait, sorry, wait watch apparently we have a comparison reel.”

And then a bunch of Jack’s goals from last year play and he sees himself smile for just a moment, maybe fist pump and then get right back down to business and this time when they play his highlights from this year where he is hugging teammates and smirking and freaking _twirling_ , he sees the difference.

He sits down on the couch.

“Now, that’s a good story on its own,” Chris says. “We always love to see professionals who still love what they do _but_ that’s not the end. Now, I know that we were a bit hesitant to report on this because we couldn’t get anyone to comment but, let’s head to Nicole. Nicole?”

“Thanks, Chris,” Nicole says, beaming at the camera. “As you said, this is a bit of rumor but according to a few sources, the cause of Zimmermann’s turnaround has been his friendship with the Falconers’ _ice crew_.”

“The ice crew?” John asks.

“Yes,” Nicole says. “For those of you who don’t know, the ice crew is in charge of cleaning up the ice during and after the games and earlier this year, Jack Zimmermann became the first NHL player to publicly thank the ice crew for all their hard work this season in a post-game conference. Here, take a look.”

Jack winces because he always hates watching himself in the press because he knows he sounds stupid, but he watches as he says that the credit for their win should go to the ice crew as well as the team and others who work at the rink.

“But, that’s not all,” Nicole says. “A few weeks _after_ that, NHL.com reported that Jack Zimmermann apparently went to the Falconers’ organization to ensure the the ice crew was receiving overtime pay for those late games when they still have to clean everything up. Apparently, he told the manager to take it out of his own pay if they had to.”

“That is classy,” Chris says. “That is just a classy move.”

“I hope the other ice rinks around the league take note,” John agrees.

“So sweet,” Nicole agrees and Jack doesn’t particularly like his conversation with management being referred to as “sweet” when really it was just fairness but the segment isn’t over yet.

“Now, that could just be Jack Zimmermann being a nice guy,” Nicole says. “But, someone on the internet put together the following compilation of Jack interacting with the ice crew and, honestly guys, you are not going to believe this.”

Jack stares. He knows, intellectually, that the cameras on an NHL game are always rolling and so he knows that his interactions with the ice crew would be recorded but he had never assumed that anyone would bother to find them all and then play them in a row.

And in a row, it’s just Jack talking to each of them as he comes back on the rink and all of them smiling at him. In a row, Jack can see the moment, he starts clapping them on the shoulder instead of just saying thank you. And in a row, he can watch the game that Shitty slapped him on the ass as he was leaving and he can see his face break into a shocked smile and then he can watch as he does it to Shitty in the next period. He can also see him looking up at Lardo and saying something as she drives off on the Zamboni before the second period starts and he vaguely remembers leaning down and grabbing some spare ice and throwing it at Ransom and Holster before getting back on the ice but not in detail. He hadn’t remembered checking into Bitty and grinning as Bitty turned and yelled at him while trying to clean the ice in detail either.

But it’s him doing it all.

“So as you can see,” Nicole says with a giggle. “I think it’s safe to say that Jack Zimmermann has become quite buddy-buddy with the ice crew. And, we also have _this_.”

Jack is positive that Ransom, Holster, and Shitty did not realize that there was a camera on them when they stood behind in the presser making funny faces but it’s there for the world to see now - Jack’s face _lighting up_ at their antics and the way that he has to ask the reporter to repeat the question when Shitty tries to climb up on Holsters back. He had thought he did a pretty good job at focusing and not laughing when Shitty mooned him but… there’s a definitely chuckle.

“Oh goodness,” Chris says, shuffling some papers. “That is exactly the time of stupid stuff I used to do with my friends back in the day.”

“Apparently,” Nicole continues. “Some people believe that Jack Zimmermann is actually hanging out with the ice crew on his days off. When these pictures of Zimmermann entering Fabler on his days off surfaced-” the screen cuts a pap photo of Jack walking in the side door “- many people assumed that this was just Jack Zimmermann trying to get in _more_ practice time, but if you look in the background here-” Oh, Christ, now she has a TV and is pointing to the picture herself. “That is the ice crew’s car and security footage from a few minutes earlier has the whole gang piling into the rink minutes before Zimmermann.”

“Gosh, I love this,” John says. “Zimmermann sneaking his friends into the rink to play hockey. That’s great.”

“Well, the one manager I did get a hold of,” Nicole continues. “Says that the ice crew all play hockey and that, in fact, they are allowed to play on the rink when it’s not in use. So I think we can assume from this footage that Jack Zimmermann is using his day off to go and, well, play some hockey with the ice crew!”

“Incredible,” John says. “And, Nicole, am I reading this right? You called the ice crew and not one of them would give you any details on this apparent friendship?”

“No, they would not, John,” Nicole says. “The most they said is that they think Jack is a great hockey player and it’s a lot of fun working at the rink.”

“Well, I’m happy to see him happy,” Chris says. “I think all of us were a little worried about that kid, to be honest. But he’s playing with passion again and that’s always a good thing.”

“I think it’s fair to say that perhaps this ice crew has reignited his love of the sport,” John says. “Just incredible to see. Jack, if you’re watching this - you keep on doing what you do, sir! Now, let’s switch tracks and talk some NFL. As you know the playoffs have started and that means--”

When Jack looks down, George is already calling him, doubtless to ask if he wants to make a statement or maybe to yell at him a little bit for not telling him any of this and he ignores it only to have Shitty’s number pop up on his phone.

Jack answers that. He almost always answers when one of the crew calls.

“Is it true?” Shitty crones. From the sound of it, people are celebrating in the background. He hears Bitty say something about pie. “Is our bromance reigniting your love of the game?”

He sounds ridiculous (and maybe high if Jack knows Shitty).

“Shut up,” he says, fighting a blush and realizing that it might be a little bit true. “I hate all you guys.”

“JACK SAYS HE HATES US!” Shitty calls to the group and there is a chorus of “FUCKING LIAR” and “WE ARE THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO HIM, ESPN SAID SO” and “I _was_ going to make him a pie but if he _hates_ us well--”

“I have to get ready for practice,” Jack says. “I’ll see you guys in a couple hours.”

“Don’t be too sad playing without us, babe,” Shitty says. “We’ll be right there for you after you’re done.”

“Go _away_ , Shitty,” Jack says but he knows Shitty can hear his smile over the phone.

*^*^*^

The chirping is relentless and he knew it would be from the ice crew but it is also relentless from his teammates and it’s…

Jack frowns before realizing that it is all in good fun and he thinks that some of the “when are you going to introduce us to your friends, Zimmy??” Is genuine and Maddock, one of the oldest guys on the team, gives Jack a slap on the back and says “it’s good you found your people outside of all this” and the coaches pull him in to talk about these “extra practices” and Jack is prepared to get reamed out and told to stop _immediately_ but instead he gets told that “It’s fine as long as you are careful, listen to your body, and bring that same energy to the ice” and even his coaches seem to think that his new happier attitude is a good idea.

Absolutely no work gets done in ice-crew practice today. Shitty keeps faux-crying and Ransom and Holster keep sandwiching him in group hugs and Bitty did bake him a pie so they all sit around and eat it and are then too full to move.

After his next game (a win, thank goodness), Jack gets asked about it.

“So… the ice crew?” A reporter says. “Care to comment on the rumors?”

“Well, they are a great group,” Jack says. “People don’t realize this but they work really hard to make sure we are playing on the best conditions possible and it’s not an easy job.”

There’s a pause where the reporter is clearly expecting more so Jack relaxes and just gives it to her.

“And, yes, the ice crew at Providence and I have become quite close,” he says, smiling a little. “But don’t tell them I told you that. They are all gonna get egos.”

The room laughs. He, Jack Zimmermann, makes a room of reporters _laugh_.

“How did you meet?” The reporter asks.

“Well, they yelled at me,” Jack admits with a smile. “For staying late after games and making it so they couldn’t go home. I didn’t realize that but then I did so--”

“So you made sure they were paid overtime?”

“Well, yes, that was only fair and I stopped doing it,” Jack says. “It kind of… grew from there. I would consider them some of my best friends.”

“Do you actually practice with them?” Another reporter asks.

“Well, not when they are seriously practicing,” Jack says. “But if they are just skating around, then yeah. I love being on the ice. And they are really talented. One of them is the fastest player I’ve ever seen. Seriously.”

“Do you think it’s changed your game play?”

Jack considers. Then smirks,

“Well, apparently it’s upped my celly-level,” he says.More laughter. He can see why people like laughter. It’s nice. And it eats up time. “And there are a few other trick plays I’ve been working on.”

It’s a lie - or enough of an exaggeration that it might as well be one - but the room chuckles again and then moves on.

*^*^*^

To the outside world and the media and even to the Falconers, this is where the story ends. With Jack learning to love the game again and gradually relaxing with his teammates enough that he has fun on the ice with them too (and tries to teach them how to twirl). It ends with Jack becoming even more obvious in his interactions with the ice crew how much he likes them and the compilation videos titled “Jack and his [Ice] Crew” get longer but not different, really, and that’s the end of the story.

Of course, it doesn’t actually end there.

Because that little buzz of excitement in Jack’s stomach when he looks at Bitty and the rush of anger he feels when he thinks about what little he knows about Bitty’s parents and the drum of ‘what if what if’ against his temple when he and Bitty sit just a little too close?

That doesn’t go away.

 


	2. The Haus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is STILL a VERY SHORT, QUICK FIC... but I did break it into 3 parts instead of 2 because its actually going to be around 45k. No more than that. I think.
> 
> Hope you like the second part!

The friendship of Jack Zimmerman and the Falconer’s ice crew continues. 

He keeps practicing with them when he’s around and he keeps texting them when he’s away and he stresses about it at first - about sounding weird and not getting a large majority of their jokes - but it gets easier. Shitty starts texting him history book recommendations and so they have a private spin-off conversation about that and it’s less embarrassing asking Shitty what Ransom and Holster are talking about in private. Then, he gets invited to dinner with the whole group when Chowder introduces them to his girlfriend Farmer and it’s strange, really, to have a dinner where he is not the focus at all and it’s stranger still that when he offers a “she seems really great, Chowder,” Chowder beams at him but just as _Jack_. Not as Jack Zimmermann, hockey player. 

Really, Chowder smiles even wider when _Bitty_ approves. 

His conversations with his parents get longer because he finds he actually _wants_ to tell them about Ransom and Holster’s latest adventures (they’d found a baby squirrel recently and nursed it back to health, Bitty made them put it outside but apparently it now lives in their backyard and will still eat from their hands, Bitty suspects they are sneaking it upstairs on rainy days) and he wants them to know that he is starting to understand Shitty’s rambles on feminism and when he talks about his own hockey, it feels like bragging and maybe it still is, but he finds that when he goes to one of the ice crew’s games and then gives his parents a recap, it is _fun_. 

(A pap had taken pictures of him sitting next to Lardo at the game and he’d been smiling there too. It’s actually not a bad picture. He doesn’t even mind the little article that runs: _Jack Zimmermann seen at local community league hockey game, supporting Falconer’s ice crew_. The reporter, a guy named Dan Erikson, had found him afterwards and was actually pretty nice as far as reporters go. He’d asked Jack what his favorite play of the game was and then had interviewed the ice crew as if they were just as important and… well, it’s the first article about himself that Jack links to his parents. Mostly because it’s almost entirely about the ice crew and the importance of community athletics.)

At the end of January, Johnson comes to Saturday morning practice and the boys are thrilled because Johnson was a goalie and so--

“FULL SCRIMMAGE!!!” Shitty tells Jack, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “We never get to do this!”

Ransom and Holster are both tripping over themselves to get into the rink and Bitty looks a little more flushed than usual, even though--

“No checking!” he reminds everyone. “Remember we’re not checking!”

“I guess I’m watching with you today,” Jack tells Lardo because real practice means he sits it out and he doubts any of them want to be on a team against him.

“Oh, hell no,” Johnson says, blinking. He looks tired. “If I woke up to come to practice, we are pushing this plot forward. You are playing on a line with Bitty.”

“But-” Jack starts.

“Johnson, did you forget to tell Nursey and Dex?” Holster asks. “Just got a text saying they didn’t know and are going to take an hour to get here.”

“Must not have gone through,” Johnson says and then _winks_ at Jack. Jack isn’t sure what’s happening.

“Jack and Bitty on a line versus Ransom and Holster!” Shitty says. “I’ll play permanent offense.”

*^*^*^

It is a scrimmage like no other Jack has ever played. Shitty switches teams the moment he is out of the neutral zone and passionately yells at whichever team he is on. Ransom and Holster’s freakish ability to _always_ know what the other is doing and thinking makes Jack assume that he and Bitty are going to be at a pretty severe disadvantage, especially considering they have never really played with each other before but--

But Bitty is faster than any of them and it’s ridiculous how well he seems to know what Jack is thinking and passing to him is effortless, maybe more effortless than anything Jack’s ever done. Bitty is always just _there_ and Jack somehow seems to know what he is going to do, that when Bitty lifts his chin to the left, he wants Jack right _there_ and when his hips twist like that, he wants the puck and Jack’s never really felt this before. Like he knows someone’s style that well without ever discussing it. 

It’s easy and it’s fun and they _fit_ and Jack thinks to himself “I must’ve been watching Bitty practice more than I thought” as a passing explanation before focusing on hockey. 

Halfway through, Ransom and Holster decide (sort of without telling him) that the no-checking rule does not apply to Jack (to be fair, by Jack’s count, he and Bitty are winning by a fair amount by this point) and so Jack spends the second half desperately passing to Bitty while getting hit and laughing and well, if he’s allowed to get checked, that means he is also allowed to check so the next time Holster gets the puck, Jack slams him against the boards and Shitty joins and--

It’s stop being a hockey game by that point and turns into a little bit of a thunderdome. But not an angry one, a fun one. Jack, Ransom, and Holster hit each other enough that Jack is positive he is going to get yelled at by the trainers but just when he thinks he really should stop, it becomes a game of “get Shitty” where Ransom and Holster try to kill Shitty when he is on Jack’s team and Shitty desperately flees to the other side of the ice only to find Jack there, also ready to kill him.

“Bitty hasn’t even been hit once!” Shitty yells desperately as both Ransom and Holster sandwhich him. “Go get him!”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Bitty says, already skating away, abandoning the puck completely. “Boys, really, don’t--”

Ransom and Holster turn to each other, grinning, and well, Jack is not an enforcer on the Falconers at all (he’s really not _that_ big for a hockey player) but he knows enough to protect his teammate and Bitty is his teammate in this moment and there are no refs so--

He slams into Holster from behind and Bitty laughs as he flies away and once again the game changes, this time to “protect the Bitty.”

With the Falconers, scrimmages are taken pretty seriously, but the ice crew stops keeping score within five minutes and calls in Lardo to decide whether a goal counts even though she has been drawing the whole time and did not see the play at all. Jack definitely over-does it a little bit - his shoulders are a bit sore and one of them might be bruised enough that he is going to have to ice it - but his abs also ache from laughing and he’s lost his voice a little from yelling and Lardo informs him that he and Bitty won. 

_Good game,_ Jack texts Bitty privately. _I gotta teach some of those passes we pulled to the Falconers._

 _Haha thanks!_ Bitty replies. _But we both know no one on that team is fast enough to compete with me._

Jack shows it to his teammates in the locker room and they are offended and Jack spends the end of practice trying to show them some of the plays he and Bitty had invented and in the end--

 _You’re right,_ he texts Bitty. _They can’t keep up._

_:))))_

*^*^*^

“You guys wanna do dinner?” Jack asks after practice one day in February. It’s Friday and he doesn’t have practice tomorrow and they won’t have class so dinner should be fun. He can stay out late and everything.

Of course he is quickly reminded that he usually _waits_ to be invited out to dinner because everyone on the Ice Crew (except Nursey and Chowder to some extent) is careful with money by necessity and the beat of awkward silence reminds him that February is a short month and to those who pay month rently, that is a problem. And Jack would _obviously_ pay for dinner but he knows without having to ask that none of them will accept it.

“We could cook in?” Holster suggests. 

“Not really,” Bitty says, squirming. Jack curses himself. He didn’t mean to make everyone uncomfortable. “Besty’s on the fritz again. And only one of the burners is working on the stove so… I was actually thinking we do mac and cheese tonight?”

Jack can see from everyone’s faces that this isn’t actually a good thing.

“Some other time,” Shitty tells Jack, slugging him on the arm. Jack knows from experience that if he nods and moves on, the others will too and it will be as if this never happened. Shitty is talented like that. 

“Why don’t you come cook at my place?” He says, words popping out before he can stop himself. “I’m always crashing at your place. About time you see mine, eh?”

There’s half a beat where the ice crew shares glances with each other and then--

“Bro,” Holster says, laughing. “Tell me you heard how that sounded?”

“WE’RE ALL GONNA GET TO SEE ZIMMERMANN’S DICK TONIGHT!” Ransom shouts to the empty rink. 

Jack just blushes, pleased.

He goes a bit overboard. With the food and the drinks and… everything really. He ends up buying a new set of pots and pans and then baking sheets and pie dishes (just in case) and he spends the afternoon ripping price tags off things and hoping no one will notice that they are _all new_ and, jeez, that’s embarrassing. Why did he buy _four_ different pie dishes and two rolling pins? Like what even happened in that Williams and Sonoma store?

It is all worth it when Bitty walks in, stops dead, and stares.

It should feel awkward. Having this beautiful house all to himself while the ice crew struggles to pay utilities on their dump but everyone turns to chirping Bitty, who is running his hands across Jack’s granite counter tops in quite the sexual manner and--

“DUDE THIS TV IS SICK!” Holster screams from the living room. “AND YOU HAVE SETTLERS OF CATAN? Oh, we are PLAYING!”

“Do you need help?” Jack asks Bitty as he starts to pull stuff from the fridge. “Or do you need me to run out and get something? I tried to think of everything but--”

“Hush,” Bitty says. “You have _plenty_ and if you don’t stop them, Ransom and Holster will dig through your underwear drawer.”

Jack laughs and realizes he would much rather be in the kitchen with Bitty then showing them around. He doesn’t care about this house at all so giving a tour would be boring and from the sound of it, the boys don’t need his help. 

“Seriously,” Bitty says when Jack doesn’t move. “Shitty warned me that they found Lardo’s porn stash in like _two days_ when she moved in. She nearly killed them and Shitty said he read them the riot act but I don’t think it will stop them.”

“I don’t have a porn stash,” Jack replies, grinning a little bit. “So let me help.” And Bitty smiles up and him and does.

He and Bitty work together like they did on the ice, effortlessly flowing around each other and, okay, Jack hip checks him a little bit but it’s more to remind Bitty he is there than anything else. Because sometimes Bitty goes quiet and sad maybe? And Jack doesn’t want that. So he hip checks him and asks if he would like to connect his phone to Jack’s sound system and, yes, now Bitty is ignoring him because he is dancing. That’s better.

Dinner is delicious.

(They play Settlers of Catan later but then have to agree never to play again. Jack is afraid everyone is going to leave angry but then they find out he had never seen LOTR and are _horrified_ and everyone ends up falling asleep on the couch when they try to do two in a row for some reason.)

(Jack doesn’t let himself think about how nice it is - to wake up with a sore neck and shoulder - because somehow Holster is curled on him - with Bitty tucked into his other side and Shitty’s legs across all three of them. To have Bitty instantly wake and start making pancakes and to finally get some use out of that backyard he has when they head outside to go make snowmen and to have them stay almost the whole day. He doesn’t. He has to get ready for a series of away games. The final playoff push is starting.)

*^*^*^

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

It’s Mid-March and up until this moment, Jack felt good. About life. About everything. The Falconer’s secured their spot in the playoffs so even he is not that stressed about the games. Everyone on the team is healthy. He has managed to watch four episodes of 30 Rock and Holster sent him nothing but heart emojis for two hours. He’s had the boys over for dinner three more times. He and Bitty are texting regularly. He’s figured out how Bitty uses that little bird emoji so sometimes if he is away and tired from a game, he can just text that instead of having to come up with an actual chirp. He thinks Bitty finds it funny.

Life is good. Until he comes out of locker room after a game (a bit later than usual because he’d gotten held up talking to a few of the Falconers) and hears Holster panicking.

“Oh my god, guys, _fuck_ ,” he’s still going. All the boys are crowded around the goalpost and Jack can’t really see what they are looking at but he slows. Makes the decision to hang back until he figures out what’s wrong. Maybe someone is injured? Dex is bent over...

“It’s my fault,” Chowder offers. “I just - I can’t believe I-’

“No, no, I took the shot,” Bitty says. He sounds shaken. “I- what do we do?”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Shitty says but he sounds serious. Firm and controlled in a way that Jack isn’t used to. “I mean it’s… it’s all of our faults. We shouldn’t have been using it.”

“Maybe we can fix it,” Ransom says. His voice is too high as well. “Dex is always fixing our oven and--”

“No,” Dex says, looking up at them from where he’s kneeling on the ice. “No, guys. It’s like shattered.”

“Just blame me!” Chowder says. “It was technically me and it’s okay if they fire me and--

“Shut up, Chowder!” Shitty says. “No one is getting fired.”

“We are _all_ gonna get fired,” Bitty says. 

“No, dudes, chill,” Nursey interjects. “I’m telling you I can--”

“Even _your_ parents would notice a five _thousand_ dollar charge on your credit card!” Dex says. 

“Is that how much these things cost?” Bitty squeaks.

“I don’t know!” Dex says. “This is like… rich hockey people equipment shit! I’ve never even seen one in our shop!”

“We actually are going to get fired,” Ransom says. “I have an excel sheet. We could maybe make it two months.”

“Stop,” Shitty says. “Look, this was just an accident. A stupid accident and we’re just going to tell them that. Accidents happen.”

“We could tell no one,” Holster suggests. “Keep it our secret ‘til the grave.”

“Make a blood pact!” Ransom adds.

“Don’t be silly,” Bitty says. “We have to tell them.”

“You know who we don’t tell, though?” Shitty says, and Jack takes a few steps closer. “Jack.”

Jack stops, hurt. And then even more hurt when everyone instantly agrees.

“Never,” Holster says. “He’d do something stupid.”

“So stupid,” Ransom agrees. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Gosh, you’re right,” Bitty says. “Okay, don’t tell Jack.”

“Don’t tell Jack what?” Jack says, striding forward.

The boys all jump and Holster all but throws Ransom forward and Ransom drags Dex up and they form something of a barricade in front of him.

“Nothing!” Chowder squeaks. “There’s nothing here!”

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Ransom says. “I- how hard was that hit in the game tonight? You should probably get your hearing checked.”

“Seriously, bro,” Shitty says and he sounds the most normal out of all of them but is skating towards Jack with the clear intention of distracting him and Jack isn’t having it. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jack is the captain of an NHL team who had won the Stanley Cup last year, though, so when Shitty skates towards him, Jack slides away and when the boys try to reconfigure themselves so his view is still blocked, he simply breaks through them. Gently, but firmly. 

“It’s nothing!” Chowder squeaks. “Really it’s--”

Jack ignores him. It’s definitely something. There is a scattering of black shards on the ice and Dex is still holding a part of it in his hand and--

“What is that?” he asks, frowning and slipping into captain mode without thinking about it. 

“Nothing,” Nursey offers, shrugging one shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dex agrees. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Guys,” Jack tries.

“You got hit too hard,” Ransom says again. “Seeing things too!”

“Seriously,” Jack repeats. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

There’s another tense beat of silent before,

“It’s the goal camera!” Chowder blurts. “We- uh, we are supposed to switch them out after the game with the practice ones but we--”

“We didn’t,” Shitty says. “It’s our fault. One of the zambonis is broken and we spent awhile trying to fix it so we were running late and it’s still our fault. We should have switched it out.”

“But then _I_ tried to block a shot and must’ve hit it in the exact wrong spot and now it’s broken!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Shitty repeats. “We’ll just tell them and deal with it. Don’t worry about it.”

Jack wouldn’t have believed that lie even if he hadn’t been around to hear their initial panic. Because Bitty looks pale as a sheet and Ransom and Holster are holding each other even though Jack has already broken through the barricade and Dex is glaring around the rink, shoulders hunched as if preparing for a blow. Even Nursey looks worried. Shitty looks oddly still, which Jack takes to mean as stressed.

Wordlessly, he holds out his hand for Dex to give him the part and, yup, it is broken (even if it weren’t, Jack would have no idea how to do anything with it) so,

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll handle it.”

“Jack, _no_ ,” Bitty says. “This is not--”

“You will absolutely not,” Shitty says. “This was our mistake and we will handle it.”

“Bro, this is why we were trying not to tell you in the first place!” Holster says. 

“If you guys had jumped on my concussion idea,” Ransom starts. 

“It’s not a big deal if _I_ did it,” Jack says. “I’ll just tell them to take it out my pay. It can’t be that expensive.”

“No,” Shitty says. “No, that’s not fair.”

“We really can’t let you,” Holster says.

“It’s too much,” Bitty adds.

“Just please tell them I did it!” Chowder says. “Please, guys, everything would be better.”

“Guys, it’s not a big deal,” Jack says. “Just let me help.”

“You _already_ help,” Bitty replies. “With g-getting us overtime and eating dinners at your house and--”

“It is a big deal,” Shitty says when Bitty stops talking to take a deep breath. “Look, man, we appreciate but… that’s not why we hang out with you. We don’t need you to clean up our messes.”

“Have you ever played with the official goals before?” Jack asks, sending his voice further into captain mode.

“A few times, yeah,” Holster says, looking even more uncomfortable. “Sometimes it’s a pain to clear them off just to get the different ones and now that--” He stops and clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Did you do it before I started playing with you?”

The fact that everyone glances at each other tells Jack everything he needs to know. They didn’t risk it before. He knows that. They know that. He waits anyway. 

“No,” Shitty admits finally. “But that just makes it even worse. That sometimes we leave them out because you’re here and we’ve gotten… comfortable.”

“It’s our fault,” Bitty repeats. “And it will be fine. We’ll just tell them to pay us a little bit less until we pay it back.”

“Exactly,” Shitty says. “It’s not like they are going to fire all of us right before playoffs. We’ll just pay it back. Don’t worry about it, Jack.”

Jack hates that he knows this means money will be even tighter for them, that there will be fewer pies and more packets of ramen in their pantry, that if it gets bad enough it means that the boys will take fewer classes at the community college and Lardo will put more of her art up for sale even though she likes keeping some of them. 

“We don’t even know how much it costs,” Dex offers. “Maybe it’s super cheap?”

“Either way,” Jack says. “I like playing with the game goals and I told you to leave them out and it’s my fault.”

“That is--” Shitty starts.

“Shitty,” Jack says. “I am going to tell them that either way, so just let me.”

There is no way he is letting his ice crew get in trouble just because they made one mistake. He is not letting it affect their income either. Or their happiness. He- he has so little to give them but this is something he can do.

“We- we can’t pay you back right away,” Bitty says. His hands are twisting together. He looks uncomfortable. They all do. Jack hates it.

“Look, guys,” he says. It’s a subject they’ve never talked about before. “I- we all know that paying for this will be _easy_ for me. And I’m- I’m sorry about that but if I can’t use my… success to help my friends, then what is the point? I can do it and I want to do it so please let me.”

The boys all exchange looks. Dex’s shoulders hunch even more and Bitty is glancing between Holster, who has one eyebrow raised, and Shitty, whose head is tilted like it does when he’s thinking. There’s a flurry of movement of nods that Jack thinks starts from Shitty and then spreads outward. At least, they must all agree somehow because a moment later, 

“Okay,” Shitty says. “Okay, man, if you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” Jack says. “Positive.”

“That’s… that’s really nice of you,” Bitty says and Jack can’t lie and say it’s not still a little awkward because money is always awkward, even among friends but-

“Wait,” Jack says, the idea dawning on him all at once. “Wait, I do have a way you can pay me back.”

“What?” Chowder says, sounding relieved. “Anything!”

“Dinner,” Jack says. “Dinner with my parents. They are coming into town and want to meet you.”

“Sure!” Chowder says. “Wait- oh my god- isn’t your dad Bad Bob? Are you saying we have to meet _him_ because-”

“Bro,” Ransom says. “ _Bro_.”

“I am not ready,” Holster says. “Like emotionally, I am not ready.”

“You’d have to wear a suit and tie too,” Jack adds. “And behave yourself at a restaurant.”

“Oh god, this lot in a suit and tie?” Shitty says. “You drive a hard bargain, Zimmermann. Maybe we should just get fired.”

“What are you talking about, bro?” Ransom says. “I look _great_ in a suit!”

“Your only suit is a powder blue,” Holster replies. “You are not wearing _that_.”

The two skate off still arguing and--

“When are they coming?” Bitty asks. “I need to plan. Do you know their favorite pie? I mean, I guess we could eat dessert at the restaurant but… no, no, I’ll make it. They can take it home after.”

In the end, Jack’s announcement serves as enough of a distraction that practice returns to usual and that is that.

He gets a more formal handshake from Shitty when they all finally head home and it should feel awkward and formal and stiff but Shitty follows it up with a, 

“Proud to know you, man,” and a nod and, yes, life is still good.

*^*^*^

“I broke the goal camera,” Jack tells the Falconers management team the next day. “I’d like to pay to replace it.”

There’s a long pause.

“How?”

“I was practicing after the game last night and broke it.”

Another long pause.

“The ice crew is supposed to put those goals away immediately. And put out the practice ones if they are going to fool around. Did they fail to do that?”

Jack just stares at the man. He’s not sure of his name but he suddenly understands why Bitty’s first instinct is to assume they are all going to get fired at the drop of a hat. Jack doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like his stupid suit or his pinched lips or the way he said “fool around” as if it was something stupid. “I asked them not to.”

“Look, Jack, we all saw the reports on ESPN about your relationship with the ice crew but if they are no longer doing their jobs--”

“I broke the goal camera,” Jack repeats, letting his voice slide from apologetic to firm. “I’d like to pay to replace it.”

He is willing to repeat that statement for as long as necessary.

*^*^*^

In the end, the custom go-pro camera that goes in the goals is only a thousand dollars. It is such a little amount of money to Jack that he feels guilty for some reason and ends up donating another ten thousand dollars to Leveling the Playing Field. 

He suspects the ice crew gets reamed out anyway because for the next few days, they all seem to have their heads down. They don’t practice after the Falconers in favor of deep cleaning the locker rooms and refuse to let Jack help. During the next home game, they don’t talk and laugh with each other as they clear the ice and when Jack tries to say something to Bitty, Bitty gives him a quick nod but no blinding smile and Jack knows without having to ask that they probably aren’t planning on practicing after the game either.

So he actually begs off of press (they already made the playoffs so it’s not that big a deal) and heads straight to the breakroom and--

“You guys coming or what?” 

They laugh and follow him.

Balance restored.

*^*^*^

Jack hasn’t thought about it much before but sometimes being in a conversation with Bitty is like being on the ice with him. Even when the conversation of nine other people swirls around them, he always manages to catch Bitty’s eye at the perfect time and he feels like he knows when Bitty is going to go for a particularly good story and in his own way, tries to make sure that people are quiet enough to hear him since sometimes Bitty starts out small and unlike everyone else, politely waits for a break in conversation, and with Jack’s parents, it is no different.

They are seated at a big round table and Bad Bob had immediately requested that the center piece be removed “so we can all see our faces, eh?” and Jack doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen his parents so charmed and so happy. The boys look great. Holster must have convinced Ransom to buy a new suit because it is a dark gray, not blue; Shitty is wearing a ridiculous tie but it is a tie and his hair is pulled into a semi-neat bun and Lardo is wearing a dress that still somehow looks like _her_ (it’s dark green and strappy and Jack’s mother compliments her and Shitty hasn’t really stopped staring when he thinks no one is paying attention). 

Bitty… Bitty is wearing a navy suit that is fitted and hugs him in all the right places and a bowtie and he’s touched up his hair for the occasion. So the sides are freshly shaved and Jack should have warned him that his father was going to give all of them bear hugs and that messing up hair is Bad Bob’s Go-To-Introduction-Move but Bitty just laughs and flicks it back into order and it’s going well.

It’s going almost too well.

His father and Shitty are talking as if they have been friends their whole lives and his mother is laughing as all the boys fall over themselves to ask her questions and ends up in a long conversation with Lardo about art. The younger boys are a little starstruck at first (it takes about 15 minutes before Chowder gets out a proper sentence and even Nursey seems a bit lost) but they’ve all relaxed now and--

Jack doesn’t really know why he feels so proud. Because he’s not really doing much of the talking but it doesn’t seem to matter. Everyone is laughing and smiling and he and Bitty catch each other’s eyes when they need to communicate.

So he realizes right away when Bitty starts to fade. Dinner ends and it becomes obvious that no one has plans to move any time soon and his father tells the story of when Jack had to call and beg for advice on how to do his laundry and his mother pulls him over for a kiss on the cheek noting how _actually_ he had called and asked if he could just buy more clothes on the credit card and his father is mock-whispering _“I bet he still does that, Alicia! Don’t give away his secret!_ ” and suddenly Bitty is looking down instead of around at the others or Jack and--

Everyone else is too busy laughing at his father’s next story - the famous one about when Jack pooped in the Stanley Cup - to really notice when Bitty goes to the bathroom. But Jack does. And then he notices when it’s been almost ten minutes and Bitty hasn’t returned. 

He laughs good naturedly at his father’s story and then goes to look. He feels a moment of true alarm when the bathroom turns out to be empty, but there’s a little door leading to the back for people who want to smoke without going onto the main road and Jack knows Bitty doesn’t smoke but--

Jack finds him out there anyway. Sitting on the curb in his suit, hands dangling between his knees. He has his phone in one hand and Jack can’t see what it’s open to but Bitty is staring at it intensely. 

Jack doesn’t mean to make any noise but the door slams shut behind him and Bitty jumps, almost dropping his phone and then twists.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Bitty says immediately, fumbling to stand up. “I just needed a bit of fresh air and I didn’t mean to worry y’all so let me just--”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, steadying Bitty when he almost trips over the curb. “Really, I was just checking.”

“Well, we can go in,” Bitty says, a frantic determination that reads as false, even to Jack. “Lord, I guess it has been a bit of time here. Started looking at my phone, you know me, stupid really.”

“It’s okay,” Jack repeats and then the only way he can think to slow Bitty down is to sit on the curb himself. “I sometimes need a minute too. The waiter is working up the courage to ask for autographs. I can tell.”

He goes silent then and keeps his eyes pointed towards the little side street they are on and he senses Bitty hover for another moment before plopping down next to him again. Jack doesn’t say anything else. 

Next to him, Bitty stills. 

They sit. They sit and Jack thinks about how little he knows about what happened with Bitty and his parents and he thinks about how he used to be so rude and distant from his father even though his father never _really_ pressured him and he thinks about how he used to wish his father was someone else, someone who wasn’t recognized every time they went out in any hockey town or someone who didn’t love telling anyone who would listen that his son was also a hockey player, someone who could fade into the background instead of pushing himself (and dragging Jack) to the attention of everyone. 

He thinks about how much his parents love him and how much they are trying with all friends and he sits and feels guilty for how stupid he used to be. And then he thinks about Bitty, who stayed in Providence for Thanksgiving and Christmas and how Bitty is stronger than Jack will ever be. 

He thinks about how it’s his fault Bitty is sitting out here. How he shouldn’t have forced him to come to this. He opens his mouth and closes it and the silence stretches until,

“Your parents are really nice, Jack,” Bitty says quietly. He’s not looking at Jack, though, merely staring out onto the street and all at once Jack is reminded of the rule: _Don’t ask about family. Don’t._

“Yeah,” he says. “They really like you.”

It seems like a cruel thing to say. Like it would just remind Bitty that _Jack’s_ parents like him even though his own parents don’t seem to speak to him and Jack quickly adds on,

“All of you,” Bitty’s eyes flick up to him and he tries for a smile. “I’m pretty sure they think you guys like… saved me.”

Bitty snorts. “Like you needed saving.”

 _I did_ , Jack wants to say. He didn’t realize it before but he did. He was so lonely and tired and numb and he did need saving. And the ice crew saved him. 

“Well, I have a lot more fun now,” he offers. “I’m watching a sitcom.”

“You also read history textbooks now,” Bitty says, tone twisting up into a chirp. “Shitty has turned you into a nerd.”

Jack smiles but doesn’t deny it and lets silence drape over them once more. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, and he knows he’s getting dangerously close to breaking the rule but he continues anyway. “For making you come to this. With my parents. I didn’t-”

“Oh hush,” Bitty says, waving a hand. “Stop. This has been absolutely lovely. I just-- why don’t you head back inside? I just-- Just give me another minute, okay?”

Jack wants to tell him to come back now, that it would be okay if he wasn’t completely happy, that people would understand if he didn’t smile quite so much, that his parents wouldn’t judge him, that no one would act any different except maybe to try to make him laugh a little more. 

But he knows Bitty. He knows Bitty and he knows what’s it’s like to want to look okay in front of other people, so he settles for using Bitty’s shoulder to help himself up and hoping Bitty recognized the extra squeeze as encouragement and heads back inside. 

*^*^*^

Jack can’t think of anything to do except to text Bitty a little more. To make a point to knock into him a little bit when he skates by during a game because that always makes Bitty blush and giggle a little. To chirp him when the opportunity arises and pass to him when he plays with the ice crew. To be there without ever really saying anything because he has no idea what to say. 

*^*^*^

Of course, as April comes around, the playoffs start and Jack is forced to see less of the ice crew. He can’t hang with them after practice because the whole team has to watch tapes together and he can’t practice with them after games because he is exhausted and knows he needs rest. He texts the group chat when he can but even that isn’t as much as he’d like.

And he’s forced to ignore some calls from Shitty. Well, ignore some and sleep through some others and it’s hard and he’d actually had a missed one from Bitty too that he keeps meaning to reply to but it’s hard being the the playoffs and it’s stressful and he knows the guys will understand. 

When he gets home from Round 1 (Falconers won but it took them six games) on April 29th, and crashes through the door only to hear his phone start ringing, he answers it.

Only because the past few days, Shitty has called him a few times in a row before giving up.

And Jack would like to talk, but he has a headache for travelling and his whole body hurts and--

“Hey,” he says, fumbling to get his shoes off. “Sorry, Shitty, I really can’t--”

“No.”

Shitty’s voice is firm and devoid of its usual cheer and it’s jarring. Jack stops messing with his shoes. Something must be wrong. 

“Look, Jack,” Shitty sounds like he did the night they first met. Angry and impassioned and _done_. “I understand that you have been busy. That you have a job and you are paid a crazy amount of money to _do_ that job, but this is _ridiculous_. You haven’t talked to any of us since Game 1! _Eleven days_ ago.”

It hits Jack that he is being yelled at. That Shitty is _mad_ at him.

“What are you--?”

“I called you like twelve times this week!” Shitty says. “ _And_ texted.”

Jack remembers the calls and he vaguely remembers the text but he had read it right before boarding a flight between game two and three and forgot to respond.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling thrown. He just- the guys have texted him while he was away before. It’s never that serious. “I just--”

“And _Bitty_ called you,” Shitty says, interrupting him again. “He almost never brings himself to call _anyone_ for _anything_ and you couldn’t get back to him? Not even a _text_?”

“Look,” Jack says, feeling his temper flare to life. He is tired and he’s just played six games of hockey. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been _busy_ alright. It’s _playoff_ season. I don’t have time to--”

“No,” Shitty says again, voice firm. “No, you don’t get to only be friends with us when it’s convenient for you. That’s not how this works. Don’t tell me you couldn’t find fifteen minutes to call your friend who _needed_ you.”

Jack’s anger leaves him so quickly he feels weak. He still has one shoe on but stumbles to he can sit down at his counter.

“What- what’s wrong?” He says. “What are you talking about?”

“Bitty- he’s having a rough time right now,” Shitty says, wind leaving his sails for just a moment. It takes one breath for him to get it back. “Rough enough that he _reached out_ to you and you--”

“Shitty. What’s _wrong_?” Jack says, using his full captain voice. 

It has no effect.

“Fucking call him yourself,” Shitty retorts. “If you manage to find the time.”

It’s bitter and biting and Jack isn’t surprised when the next sound in his ear is the dialtone. 

*^*^*^

He moves right away. Because he’s tired but it’s not _late_ , only a little after nine and Shitty is mad at him but Jack knows Shitty well enough to know that Shitty only gets truly mad on behalf of someone else so Jack’s first priority has to be Bitty.

And he doesn’t know what has Bitty so upset but he knows that after his behavior, a phone call isn’t going to cut it. So he gets in his car again and starts driving. 

He doesn’t bother knocking when he arrives at the Haus because he knows they never lock the door ( _nothing worth stealing here! Besides, no one ever has their keys on them_ ). He pops his head into the kitchen, expecting Bitty but getting Ransom and Holster, who look surprised but for the first time not too pleased to see him and--

“In our room,” Lardo volunteers when he swings to the living room. Shitty is there too, mouth pinched but Jack doesn’t give him time to say anything and doesn’t take the time to apologize. In a way it’s just like hockey- one thing at a time. You can’t play offense until the puck is off your side.

He does knock on Bitty’s door. And he’d already known something was wrong but Bitty’s voice confirms it. It’s a touch too high and shaky like maybe he has been crying.

“Oh, sorry, Lardo, are you trying to go to sleep? Come in, I’ll just--”

He stops when Jack pushes the door open. In an instant, he is standing, wiping his face with one hand and smiling a horribly fake smile.

“Oh, Jack! I- I didn’t know you were coming over. Goodness, are you okay? That was a hell of a series, but congratulations on your win. Oh, dear, you must be exhausted. Would you like pie? I- I haven’t made any but it would only take a minute.”

Jack feels like it’s back when he first met Bitty and he had a hard time understanding him when his drawl got too pronounced. He’s only picking up every third word and it’s one of Bitty’s rambles that mean he’s nervous. 

“Bitty,” he says, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. When you called.”

“Oh, that,” Bitty says with a wave of his hand. “Don’t even--” another wave. “Don’t even worry about that. That was silly. And you were busy, so. Honestly, it was stupid to call you. Especially during the _playoffs_. Lord, what if my call had woken you up or--”

“No,” Jack says. “I should have called you back and I’m sorry. What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing,” Bitty says, a beat too quickly. “Nothing, it’s okay.”

Jack goes and sits on the bed that he assumes is Bitty’s (judging from the desk Bitty is sitting at and the fact that this one isn’t covered in used paintbrushes).

“Bitty,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

Bitty seems a bit stunned by his insistence and Jack meets his eyes for a moment, but then takes the opportunity to look around the room. Sometimes people need a moment and he’s never seen it before for any length of time. It’s a tad too small for two people to stay in- cluttered and full but it’s not suffocating. The beds are staggered on opposite walls so Lardo’s is tucked in the corner, her art stuff in the other corner, while Bitty takes the bed in the middle of the room, his desk across from it. The closet is open and clearly they split it but Jack wonders how much they actually bother with organizing it. Because he is certain he’s seen Lardo wear Bitty’s t-shirts and now that he thinks about it, some of the loose tanks Bitty wears around the house must be Lardo’s and looking at the closet, he can’t immediately tell whose side is whose. 

It’s nice. There’s art on the wall that is obviously Lardos and a Beyonce poster he knows is Bitty’s and Bitty’s desk has a small shelf above it that is stuffed with cookbooks. The soft curtains scream Bitty but the one wall that has been painted a deep purple screams Lardo and there’s a Samwell crest hanging above the door that must be from one of the boys who go there.

There’s a Falconer’s hat on Bitty’s bed. Jack fiddles with it while he waits.

“It’s my mom’s birthday,” Bitty finally says. He isn’t looking at Jack. “Today.”

“Oh,” Jack replies, because he is an idiot who can’t think of anything else to say and he knows the outline of what happened with Bitty’s parents but he’s never talked about them as individuals. Jack could not tell anyone a single fact about Bitty’s mother except that he thinks she is a horrible, horrible person. And he doesn’t think Bitty would appreciate him saying that. So he doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t know if there is any way to make this conversation easier.

“I- I didn’t call last year,” Bitty says, still staring at his phone. “I was- I was still so _angry_ about what they did and at them and I just… I had the boy’s throw a party and take my phone. Ransom and Holster got drunk and hid it and we had to spend two days searching for it. It was in the back of the freezer.”

“I’m surprised it survived,” Jack offers. 

“Well, they put it in a plastic bag.”

“That’s smart,” Jack has no idea what they are doing. He shuts his mouth and vows to _stop being such a moron_ and saying stupid shit. 

“My dad’s birthday was in October this year,” Bitty continues. “And-- well, I called. No one answered. I didn’t leave a message but Coach and I were never close so…” he shrugs. “It was… I expected it, I guess. After everything.”

Jack wants to say a lot of things then. He wants to say Bitty’s father is a fucking moron and that neither of them _deserve_ Bitty and he wants Bitty to still be angry because he _should_ be because how _dare_ they but his rush of anger doesn’t match Bitty’s soft voice and the way he hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“But, my mom,” Bitty says, swallowing and his eyes flick to Jack’s for a moment. “Mama and I were real close. Before. We used to… y’know, we used to bake together and my birthday is in just five days so we always celebrated together and- and-”

His throat closes and he pauses. Takes a breath. Says the next words as if they are a dirty secret.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “If I should call her or text her and so I’ve been thinking about it all week. Just trying to figure it out, I guess.”

Jack is in no way qualified for this. He might be the least qualified person on the planet. 

“Well,” he says, slowly. “Do you- do you _want_ to call her?”

Bitty looks down again. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I mean I _do_ , I just… I don’t know what I would do if she didn’t even pick up the phone.”

“Then don’t,” Jack says. Maybe too quickly but this is his first time hearing about Bitty’s parents _from_ Bitty and he hasn’t had over a year to come to terms with what they did. He’s had two minutes.

He is angry. He can’t help it.

Bitty stretches his lips into what could be a smile if he didn’t look so sick. 

“I know,” he says. “I shouldn’t but--”

Jack bites his tongue. And waits. Bitty squirms and opens his mouth only to close it a few times and this time, when he speaks, he doesn’t lift his head from where he is still looking at his phone as if it will somehow give him the answer.

“But if I don’t call her, then- then she definitely won’t call me. And… well, maybe Coach didn’t tell her I called on his birthday and so maybe she wasn’t… part of the decision, you know? To not call me back. And it’s been almost five months since Christmas, so maybe things have changed, you know, and this year, she will--”

He cuts himself off. Jack feels sick.

He has no idea what Bitty called him with this. Why Shitty called him to tell him to come over. Why anyone in their right mind would think that he, Jack Zimmermann, would be capable of helping in this situation. 

“I-I was actually thinking,” Bitty says after a moment. “Of maybe texting? Because that’s… she has to get it. And then she can answer me? Except… texting your mama on her birthday. It’s rude so maybe she would hate that even more and maybe I should just leave it or just call and she might pick up, I think, maybe, if Coach isn’t around or--”

“Texting sounds good,” Jack offers. “It’s… it’s a good compromise. I think.”

“Really?” Bitty says, eyes glancing up and Jack wants to say that he has no fucking idea, that Bitty should not trust him with this, but Bitty is looking at him like he needs someone to say it’s okay so--

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” Bitty says and Jack is terrified for a moment that Bitty is going to ask him to help him craft the message but Bitty frowns at his phone as he types, thumbs moving faster than Jack could ever hope to manage. He pauses for a beat but then he takes a breath and--

“There,” Bitty whispers a moment later. “Sent.”

“Do you-” Jack has to stop and clear his throat awkwardly. “Do you want to go downstairs?”

“No,” Bitty says. “I think I’m going to wait up here. You can head out though, oh gosh, didn’t you just get home?”

“No, it’s okay,” Jack offers. “I’ll wait with you.”

*^*^*^

When nothing happens after ten minutes, Jack mentions putting on a netflix show and that it makes sense that the only way they can watch it in this tiny room is for both of them to sit, squashed in Bitty’s bed, Bitty’s old laptop balanced precariously on his lap. 

They go through episodes of 30 Rock silently, only really moving when they have to click the button that tells Netflix they are still watching. Jack is tired from hockey and he thinks Bitty is tired from… everything and so they end up slouching more and more and Jack is mostly asleep when someone opens the door only to turn the lights off on them but he takes the opportunity to move Bitty’s computer from his lap before closing his eyes once more.

*^*^*^

The next morning, despite everything, Jack wakes up first. He wakes up and finds Bitty curled into his chest, one hand clutching his phone and Jack has the crazy thought that maybe they had both slept through the alert.

It’s not really a thought, though, just a distant hope.

Without really thinking about it, he reaches his hand over and presses a thumb to the center button of Bitty’s phone without removing it. He knows for a fact that Bitty doesn’t lock it. Because he complains about it when the boys steal it and post to his twitter account but still never adds a passcode. 

So Jack does opens it. Just to see if there is a notification they missed. Just to check.

There’s not.

He presses the button again to be sure because there must be a text message. There _has_ to be and when there’s still nothing, he takes a sharp breath and his muscles clench.

“She didn’t write back, did she?” Bitty says suddenly. His voice is raspy and low and he doesn’t try to look at the phone himself. Pathetically, Jack wishes he would so that he didn’t have to be the one to break this news.

But just as quickly it passes. He can’t imagine forcing Bitty to check.

“No,” he says instead. “No, she didn’t.”

Bitty goes very still and then releases the phone completely, letting it fall into Jack’s hand and a moment later he is rolling over, throwing a hand over his face so Jack can’t see him.

“Could you-” Bitty starts. “Would you mind giving me a moment? Please?”

“Of course,” Jack says and his body protests when he slides out of bed but he pays it no mind. 

He still has Bitty’s phone in his hand. He keeps it even though he doesn’t want to, even though he doesn’t need to.

He thinks the text: _Happy Birthday, Mama. Please call me if you’d like._ is burned into his memory forever.

*^*^*^

He goes to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee because the few times he has slept over, that is the first thing Bitty does for everyone in the morning and finds Shitty already sitting there. 

“Hey,” Jack says softy. Shitty spins instantly and Jack feels terrible all over again.. “I’m sor-”

“No,” Shitty says. He looks like maybe he slept even worse than Jack did. “Dude, no, I’m sorry. I never should have freaked out on you like that.”

“No,” Jack says. “No, Shitty, you were right. I was- I was being a bad friend. To all of you.”

“No you weren’t, man,” Shitty says. “You were busy. Fuck, I mean we watched all those games but you had to _play_ them and it- it wasn’t right of me to go off like that. I was just- I can get a little crazy sometimes. When people aren’t doing well.”

“Shits-”

“No, you didn’t deserve it, okay,” Shitty says. “Especially after everything you’ve done for--”

“Stop,” Jack says, firmly. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Shitty letting him off the hook for ignoring his friends for almost two weeks because he had paid for some useless camera and a few meals. “Shitty, seriously, I- I want you to always tell me, okay? When I’m being a dipshit.”

Something in his tone must tell Shitty that he is being serious because Shitty closes his mouth and goes silent and then walks over with a cup of coffee for Jack and presses his shoulder into Jack’s. 

“So what did he decide to do?”

“Texted,” Jack says dully. “She didn’t text back.”

“Fuck,” Shitty breathes.

Yes, fuck.

*^*^*^

By the time Bitty comes downstairs twenty minutes later, it’s almost as if nothing has happened. He is dressed and ready to go and fusses about the fact that Jack had slept over, shoving both of them out of the way to make pancakes and seems content to ignore the silent communication that happens between everyone else when his back is turned.

It seems like a practiced dance and as the other’s come down, it is continued. Ransom loudly bemoans the fact that Faber is closed for the day and Holster wonders just as loudly what they are going to do now and no one says anything of substance until Bitty mentions a farmers’ market that is opening this week and suddenly a farmers’ market is everyone’s favorite thing to do in the entire world. (Seriously, Holster declares it a lifelong dream to go to one and Shitty goes on a ramble about how Farmer’s Markets are one of consumer’s last few opportunities to stick it to capitalism).

They are not subtle at all but Bitty looks at them all with a smile and it makes it so Jack doesn’t feel bad about buying every single thing Bitty so much as looks at (“Of course, for myself, Bitty, of course.”) and Shitty doesn’t give him any shit for just bringing it all into the house and dumping it on the counter when they get home. 

“Y’all,” Bitty says as everyone starts putting things away without being asked. “ _Y’all_.”

He looks like he’s about to start crying then but Shitty jumps on him, yelling “GROUP HUG” as he does so Ransom and Holster join and Lardo shoves Jack into the fray so he has to put his arms out to catch himself from falling and--

Leaving as everyone gets ready for dinner has never been more difficult.

 _Thanks, Jack,_ Bitty texts him hours later.

 _No problem._

He wants to continue the conversation but doesn’t know how.

*^*^*^

The playoffs continue and the Falconers win and Jack makes a point to text in the group chat at least once a day. Because in the playoffs, he doesn’t talk to them during the games, except for a grunted “thanks.” So he texts. He misses one day because he falls asleep and one day the boys have to settle for a butt text (to be honest, he thinks they enjoy that more than any of the other texts he sends). But he makes a point to try and he makes a point to text Bitty privately as much as he can.

It kills him that he’s in town for Bitty’s birthday but can’t come over because he has to leave early the next morning for Game 3 and technically, he had the day off but he had stretching and icing and strategy. He come back to his empty place and knows he has to be responsible and not go over to the ice crew’s Haus. He gets Snapchats from all of them and one of them is Bitty crying when he opens the skates Jack had got him which is followed by seven texts in a row from Bitty, none of which make much sense.

He gets a single text from Shitty: _No word from his parents,_ that he doesn’t bother replying to.

He just keeps texting Bitty. 

When they lose in the Stanley Cup finals (Game 6 on the road and god, they were close, they were so fucking _close_ , fuck), Jack doesn’t text any of them. He feels bad and tells himself he should but it is also his fault, he’s sure of it and he doesn’t want them to tell him it’s not. He just needs some time to accept that he failed this year. 

He gets three days.

On the third, he wakes up to a _hammering_ and he stumbles up, opens the door, and doesn’t get any say whatsoever in letting the ice crew into his house. Holster just shoulders past him, using all his height and Jack’s shock to his advantage and the others file in after him, already talking to each other and before Jack can even move, the TV is on, everyone has opened a beer, and Bitty has a pie in the oven (that he must have brought over from the Haus, right? He must have) and is whipping up some French Toast and _Ransom, I left the strawberries in the car, go grab them!_

Jack doesn’t know what’s happening but it seems sensible to keeping holding the door open for Ransom as he leaves and then comes back again and that must take up a precious few minutes because when he finally makes it back to his living room, Lardo is setting up newspaper and passing out tiny canvases and apparently they are having an Arts and Crafts day. Which involves paint. 

This is problematic because it cuts into Jack’s plan of moping and for a flash, he is angry because they can’t just _barge in_ like this and he opens his mouth to tell them thank you but, _no_ thank you. 

But then Bitty touches his arm and offers him a slice of pie (that one _must_ have been warmed up at the Haus) and “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you this year, Jack. But you played great.” and he’s gone before Jack can say anything but Jack takes a bite and feels better.

He always feels better when they are around. That’s what he realizes as he jokingly shoves Shitty out of his seat and takes a paintbrush and lets the sound of Ransom and Holster arguing good naturedly over their respective art abilities wash over him.

He’s always better when they are around.

*^*^*^

A week later he gets a call from an unknown number.

“I’m moving out,” a voice tells him.

“I think you have the wrong number,” Jack replies.

“No, man, think about it. The time has come.”

The voice does sound familiar. 

“Johnson?” Jack asks.

“Now you got it,” Johnson replies. “I’m out at the end of May. Good luck.”

*^*^*^

For a while, Jack is ready to pass it off as one of Johnson’s weird things (Johnson had once told him not to worry, that his “canon self” was doing really well and that he was more than capable of “pulling this off” and then left before Jack could ask for clarification) but he mentions it to Ransom and Holster and--

“Yeah, he is moving,” Holster says, nodding. “Said something about sacrificing his own enjoyment of our antics for the good of the ship. I think maybe he got a job with the Navy? Consulting?”

“Bro, maybe _we_ should join the Navy!” Ransom says.

“But you’d have to join in Canada. And I’d have to join here.”

“Oh my god, what if Canada and America went to _war_.”

“Bro, we can’t risk that.”

“No way, bro, no way.”

*^*^*^

When Jack asks what they are doing with the room a few days later (and he doesn’t know why he keeps asking about this really but the question is just… _there_. In his head. Always.), Shitty tells him that they are probably letting Bitty or Lardo move into it but that they haven’t actually talked about it and--

“I guess we should do that,” Shitty says, voice slow and slurred. They are sitting on the roof of the Haus and Shitty is high and Jack might be a tad bit contact high but it’s the summer and marijuana isn’t technically against NHL rules _anyway_ so. “Remind me to do that. Later. Lardo will want to paint all the walls first. She’s a great fuckin’ painter.”

“Actually,” Jack hears himself say. “What if I moved in?”

Shitty chuckles. “Dude, that would be _‘swasome_. Imagine it. Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Providence Falconers, living in this dump.” He takes another hit and laughs and shuts his eyes against the sun.

“So, that’s a yes?” Jack says, frowning a little. He’s not sure Shitty is taking him seriously. “You would let me move in?”

“Of course, you majestic princess,” Shitty says. “Rent is about $360 a month with utilities. We split groceries evenly too but if you’re ever short, we can help cover you.”

“Cool,” Jack says and then lays back and closes his eyes because it’s summer and he has nothing to do and for once that doesn’t feel boring.

*^*^*^

It is a bad idea. Jack knows that on an intellectual level and he tries to tell himself that. There are parts of the house that are literally unsafe. The kitchen is clean but old and Dex is constantly fixing the appliances and the rest of the house is rundown and it’s small and he knows for a fact that sometimes the heating and air conditioning go off and that’s to say nothing of the fact that there are five other people living there. 

He can’t expect any of the boys to stay perfectly quiet just because his season starts. He knows better than to expect that he will be able to keep his routines perfectly in place. They throw kegsters sometimes and Shitty is high most times and it is a stupid idea. He has a perfectly nice, private, expensive, _grown-up_ house all to himself already. He should _not_ move in with the ice crew.

But after his conversation with Shitty, he ends up staying over and no one says a single word about how they have to divide their food and beer even more and, really, no one has _ever_ said anything about sharing and he is terrible at video games but they let him play anyway and then in the morning, he is woken up by Bitty blasting Beyonce as he starts making eggs and--

“So, you really think it’s okay?” Jack asks Shitty when Shitty wakes up (they are both in his bed. Shitty is one of the few people with a full-size and is always down to share. The cuddling had taken Jack a few times to get used to but it’s better than the couch).

“Mhmm?” Shitty says. Jack should probably let him go back to sleep but he’s excited now.

“If I move in,” he clarifies. “I don’t want to steal a room if Bitty and Lardo are excited not to have to share theirs anym--”

“YOU WERE SERIOUS??” It’s alarming how quickly Shitty can go from asleep to awake. “HOLD THE FUCK UP, JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN. YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO MOVE IN?!?”

“Um… yes,” Jack says. “I mean, if that’s-”

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Shitty says and then he is reaching down below his bed and pulling out a _foghorn_. “HAUS MEETING. EVERYONE DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW. HAUS MEETING!!”

Jack hears twin crashes from above him that must be Ransom and Holster falling out of bed and--

“Goodness, _lord_ ,” Bitty’s voice carries from downstairs. “What in heaven’s name is- Mr. Knight _stop that this instant!”_

Shitty does not stop. He does not stop until the gang is seated in the living room (Jack included). Ransom and Holster look ready to panic, Bitty is frowning in that way that means he’s a little grumpy (he hadn’t been able to even _hear_ his morning Beyonce!), and Lardo looks straight-up ready to murder someone. 

“This had better be good,” she mutters. Her hair is sticking completely up on one side. “God help you, this better be good.” Next to her Bitty nods. 

“My dear Hausmates,” Shitty starts. He is standing in front of the television. He’s managed to put on boxers but nothing else. “My dear, dear Hausmates, today, on this glorious day of the 17th of May, in the year of our Lord, Two Thousand and--”

“Shitty, I swear--” Lardo starts.

“Okay, okay,” Shitty says. “As you know, Johnson is moving out in a couple weeks and is, in fact, out looking for an alternative living situation right now.”

“Yeah, does anyone know _where_ he’s moving to?” Ransom says. “Like, I honestly have no idea.”

“Unimportant,” Shitty says. “I think we all figured that either Bitty or Lardo would be moving into the spare room.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Oh, I guess- Lardo, do you want--?”

“BUT!” Shitty interrupts. “But, wait, Jack Zimmermann, the floor.”

Shitty literally bows and so Jack doesn’t seem to have a choice but to stand and take Shitty’s place while Shitty takes his spot on the couch and everyone is staring at him and it’s almost like when he is expected to give pump up talks to his team. 

Except, wait, it is different, because he is _asking_ for something.

He clears his throat and starts anyway,

“Well, I- I was wondering,” he says, shifting from foot to foot. Lardo now looks like she wants to murder _him_. He should speed this up. “I was wondering if it would be okay if I moved in?”

Shitty is already grinning and looking around expectantly but everyone else sort of freezes.

Except Lardo.

“Alright, man,” she says. “That’s fine. I’m going back to sleep.” And then she stands and does. 

No one else has moved yet. 

“Wait,” Holster finally says. “Wait, you want to move in _here_? And live _here_? In this house. With us. Like _here_.”

“Yes,” Jack says. Holster is still frowning at him. Ransom hasn’t blinked. Bitty is looking between all of them.

“But,” Bitty finally starts. “But- but this place… your place… that doesn’t…”

Jack shrugs. He doesn’t feel like saying that he would move them all into his place (or buy a bigger place for all of them) if he thought for even a second that they would accept it. 

“I want to live with you guys,” he says. “I’m bored at home by myself.”

It’s true. He hadn’t realized how true it was. He hates going home these days and if he moved in, going home would mean coming _here_ with Bitty and his pies and movies and video games and _fun_ and it’s not that he minds taking the time to text all of them, but if he _lived_ with them, then he wouldn’t have to bother. 

“But like… here,” Holster repeats. “In this Haus.”

“I’m pretty sure this place is haunted,” Ransom finally says. “I mean, you have been here a bit but at night… I’ve heard things, man. Seen things. Felt--”

“Don’t worry too much,” Shitty says. “The ghosts seem to only bother Ransom.”

“Um, cool,” Jack says. “I don’t really believe in ghosts anyway so-”

“NEITHER DID I!” Ransom says, leaping to clap a hand over Jack’s mouth. “So don’t say it. I think that’s why they target me.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty says. “You are actually going to-”

“If that’s okay,” Jack says, pulling Ransom’s hand away from his mouth. “It would mean you would still have to share a room so…”

“Oh my god, of course!” Bitty says and finally his confusion fades to something that looks like joy. “Oh gosh, Jack, this is going to be _wonderful_!”

That’s all it takes really. Shitty starts hitting the foghorn again and Ransom and Holster tackle him and for a moment it’s chaos but--

“Wait,” Jack says and it’s a little bit like playing hockey. He didn’t plan for this but the shot is right there and- “Well, we will need to do some updates. Around the house. Because…”

He’s a professional athlete. He cannot live in a building where the floor sometimes gives out and there might possibly be lead paint peeling from the walls and he is going to need running water. Always. 

He settles for: “My butt is insured for several thousand dollars.” Not technically true but it makes them laugh. 

“So here’s my plan,” Jack continues. It almost sounds like he’s not coming up with this on the spot. “I’ll get the supplies, pay for it on my own, but then you guys help me install all of it. So it’s fair.”

Another moment of wordless communication by the boys that Jack wonders if he will now get to be a part of when he moves in and then--

“Fair,” Shitty says and it’s another handshake moment. “But you are not allowed to help in any way that might hurt yourself.”

Jack nods. He figures that rule will keep him out of most of the actual construction or remodeling and he is pretty sure that it would be a lot faster to just hire professionals to do all of this but it’s summer and he has time and he assumes Dex will be called into help with most of it.

It seems simple.

*^*^*^

It is madness. 

He decides they should start with the big things first - replacing the floors and painting over the walls - and it turns out Dex does know how to do an alarming amount of things but the boys rarely have the patience to wait for him so Jack ends up buying five different editions of the “Idiot’s Guide” books anyway. It becomes commonplace to wake up to the sound of hammering and arguing as Shitty and Holster pull the book back and forth between them. Two weeks in and Ransom has a bit of a panic attack when he decides that memorizing the _entire book_ is the way to get this done and in the end, Jack is glad he hasn’t put his house up for lease yet because they screw it up so badly that he does have to call in professionals. 

Dex gets him a deal because it is his father and uncles that come in but Jack insists on paying full price (and tipping them a crazy amount and then feeling like a tool when he mentions to Dex’s father that Dex has been thinking about taking some computer classes at Samwell, but the man accepts and nods and so, yeah, that happened). When they ask if he would like to take out the wall to make it an open floor plan, Jack says yes even though it means cramming all six of them into his two bedroom house for another week. 

All told, it’s only two weeks to do the big foundational stuff. Then the boys insist they can take over and Jack is nervous about it but overall, he thinks it goes okay. Dex is a whiz at all of this and Ransom’s obsessive personality means that he goes around measuring everything two or three times (especially for Shitty because Shitty keeps “eyeballing” everything). Holster turns out to be pretty good with a nail gun (at least when he is not firing it at a stump outside) and Bitty surprises everyone by Dex’s favorite aka the person who pays attention and then learns the quickest. 

As he suspected, everyone claims that everything they do is too risky for him to attempt but he has enough Falconer’s press and visits his parents for a week so he doesn’t feel too awkward about it. If this is what it takes for them to feel okay with letting him buy stuff, then so be it. 

The floor gets done and one bathroom gets torn up and then it’s another week before Lardo even lets them buy paint because she has to walk through the apartment and figure out what color she wants every room to be. Ransom and Holster keep trying to hurry her up but Shitty bats them away, telling them she has to _commune with the walls, bro_ and Jack is just grateful that the new kitchen cabinets are in and that no one had called him out on the fact that technically updating those wasn’t strictly necessary. And that they had let him bring all his still relatively unused pots, pans, and dishes. (Bitty sort of cries as he unpacks the boxes. Jack tries not to look smug. Shitty gives him a look that Jack pretends not to see.)

By the end of June, things are looking… well, the Haus is semi-livable. The floors are new, the kitchen is… well you can cook in it (though Jack is buying a new oven and stove ASAP, he doesn’t care how many times Bitty tells him that Betsy works just fine), one bathroom is done and all the walls are at various stages of the painting process. Jack has his room all set up, one of the few pieces of furniture that his new roommates allowed him to bring was the TV so he’s sitting on a disgusting couch but watching a fairly nice TV when he finally he puts his house up for lease (even he knows that selling it would be silly.)

It is probably because he has technically been living with the ice crew for a month that he forgets this would create a bit of a stir. Because he lives in Providence. And is famous. And--

 _PROVIDENCE TO TRADE ZIMMERMANN?_ ESPN reports. _ZIMMERMANN PUTS HIS HOUSE UP FOR SALE WITH NO PLAN TO BUY A NEW ONE IN THE AREA._

Jack laughs and dismisses it as off-season gossip but then George calls him into her office and ‘Is he unhappy? Why is his house up for sale? Is there something he’s not telling them?’

“I put it up for lease, not sale,” Jack tells her and judging by her face that information is not helpful at all. “I’m not moving out of Providence.”

“Jack,” George says. “A lease is still long term and-”

“I’m just moving in with friends,” Jack says. “That’s all.”

“You… what?”

“I’m moving in with friends,” Jack repeats. “I mean… I’ve lived by myself for a couple years now. Figured it was time for a change.”

He’s been _lonely_ for years now is what he really means. Judging from the way George’s face has gone soft and happy he thinks she knows that. 

“Would these friends happen to be the ice crew by any chance?” she asks.

Jack nods and George’s soft smile turns into a grin.

“I will officially not yell at you for the scare you gave this organization,” she says. “If you agree to one thing.”

Which is how Jack finds himself agreeing to one of those “Tour Your Apartment” segments for Falcs TV. He’s a little nervous about telling all the boys (and Lardo) that there will be a camera crew in the Haus next Saturday (he had tried to tell George that the Haus still wasn’t completely renovated, that one bathroom was still unuseable which meant all six of them were sharing just the one, that he has plans to sneak a larger, better fridge into the house even though that is also under the “not necessary” category, that Shitty and Holster got into an hour yelling match about what art deserved to go back on the walls just last night that turned into a Haus wide voting situation that spanned an additional two hours in which all of them passionately defended their ideas, but she doesn’t seem to care. Probably trying to humanize him again. Apparently it’s a constant struggle.)

But the boys all agree (and seem excited) and Jack is normally terrible at these segments but he thinks this one might actually be fun.

*^*^*^

When the crew calls asks if he wouldn’t mind pushing it up to Thursday so they can cover a Peewee charity event on Saturday, Jack doesn’t even think about it before saying yes.

*^*^*^

Thursday at 11am finds the entire gang at home. Ransom, Holster, and Shitty are still basking in the fact that their new TV that is big enough to allow them all to play Halo at once; Lardo is painting the last living room wall when she’s not yelling at the boys to “fucking shoot him, bro!”; Bitty is experimenting with new pie recipes while humming along to… it’s not Beyoncé but Jack doesn’t know who it is. Maybe Taylor Swift? Jack is also playing Halo, having already been kicked out of the kitchen twice for “breaking my concentration, Jack. I don’t have time to educate you in pop culture right now!” 

“Brah, don’t mess with him when he’s trying new stuff,” Shitty tells him the second time. “He doesn’t even let people in to grab drinks!” 

So it’s a peaceful Thursday. The ice crew doesn’t work as much in the summer (no hockey games, less events) so only Ransom and Holster are taking summer classes but those are just on MWF. Ransom and Jack have taken showers but now they are all waiting for the warm water to build back up so everyone is in comfortable clothes and/or pajamas and/or boxers (Shitty). 

Still, Jack somehow does not put it together that people might be upset when a knock comes on the door, they all look at each other in confusion (Chowder is back in CA for the summer, Dex at work, Nursey at Martha’s Vineyard for the month with his parents) and even Bitty pops his head out of the kitchen to stare at the door. 

“Don’t worry,” Jack says, rising. “That must be the camera crew.”

His roommates stare at him. 

“You know,” he says. “I told you guys - they are doing that thing for Falcs TV.”

He figures that’s that and goes to open the door.

And gets _tackled_ from behind. It’s Holster but he is not the only one panicking.

“Jack, you said _Saturday!_ ” Bitty says. “It is Thursday!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Holster says. “What the--”

“They changed it,” Jack mumbles, twisting to shove Holster off him. “Did I forget--”

“BRO, YOU DID NOT TELL US THAT!” Shitty yells.

“Oh my god,” Bitty says. “This is- I can’t believe- my _kitchen_!” 

“Dude,” Lardo says and even she is frowning. “Why do you think I am up so early trying to get this wall done?” 

Jack is still failing to see what’s wrong. 

“Guys, I told you,” he tries. “It’s not a big deal, ok-”

He gets smacked. By the wooden spoon Bitty is holding. Hard. 

“Jack, _look at this place_ ,” Bitty orders. “Look!”

He does. Okay, so the half of their couch closest to the wall Lardo is painting is covered in plastic (Ransom had been sitting on it anyway) and floor is covered in a tarp and Lardo herself is covered in paint but still it’s not _that_ messy. It looks like it always does.

“Ransom, throw out those beer bottles,” Bitty orders. Oh, yeah, the coffee table is home to about a dozen beer bottles but that’s become pretty normal to Jack. “Holster, _hide the bong_. And dear god, Shitty, _go put on clothes_!”

It occurs to Jack that he probably should have given his roommates some warning. 

“You,” Bitty says, whirling at him. He is still wielding his spoon like a weapon. Jack steps back. “You go stall them. Get micced up outside. Do _not_ let them in here for at least five minutes or so help me--”

Jack nods, slides out the door, trying to block as much of the view as possible because Holster is running around holding a bong and shouting that there is no place to hide it and at this stage, Lardo’s wall looks kind of like a giant hand giving you the middle finger (Jack doesn’t know if she was angry it wasn’t going well last night or if that is the general concept) so she and Ransom are arguing about what to do and there is slamming from the kitchen that honestly makes Jack a little worried about the integrity of their brand new kitchen cabinets. 

“Hello!” Jack tells the camera crew, trying to sound natural. “Nice to meet you! Do I need a mic or--?”

“ _Button_ up _the flannel, Shitty!”_ comes Bitty’s voice through the window. “ _Yes, all the way!”_

It does not take nearly long enough for them to get set up. Primarily because they tell him that instead of doing a traditional mic they brought one that can pick up everyone since “you said you wanted to make sure the ice crew was a part of this.” 

He wishes he had insisted on fixing their front porch. Maybe he could have stalled a bit longer if he had done that. As it is, he’s not sure that the peeling paint outside and the sagging roof are something he needs the world seeing either. So, really, he shows them the “HAUS SWEET HAUS” welcoming mat and explains the name (as much as he can, he doesn’t quite understand it himself) and it’s only about three minutes before they are walking back in. 

There’s a crash as Ransom tries to throw six beer bottles into an empty paint can and then tries to sit on it; Holster is helping put up an old Pink Floyd poster over the middle finger of Lardo’s paint job (it’s crooked and looks like it is only being held up by wet paint) and Shitty has only managed to button up about half the flannel he’s wearing (it’s Jack’s) but he started at the wrong hole. So his shirt is lopsided and his hair is a mess and it’s such a disaster that Jack doesn’t know why he’s smiling. 

“So this is my new place,” Jack tells the camera. (He’s been given very clear instructions. Don’t look at Janelle, look at the camera. Talk to it like it’s a fan.) “And these are my roommates. You might recognize them. They all work on the ice crew for the Falconers.”

“Oh introduce them!” Janelle says brightly. They’ll edit her voice out later so it looks more natural.

“Alright, well, that’s Holster and Ransom and Lardo,” Jack says pointing in turn. “And that’s…” he draws a blank. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say Shitty on camera. He doesn’t know what Shitty’s real name is. 

“The name is Shitty,” Shitty says, barrelling forward to take Janelle’s hand. “I understand if you have to bleep it out and I’m afraid your boy Jack here didn’t do quite a good enough job with the introductions. Let’s start with this beautiful, majestic creature whose face could launch a thousand ships - I mean look at those cheekbones - Ransom, get over here so they can see your cheekbones!”

Janelle looks a little gobsmacked but she starts smiling and the cameraman turns from Jack completely to focus on Shitty and the tension seems broken and it’s then that Jack realizes Bitty has still not come out of the kitchen.

Ransom and Holster have started describing the history of the couch (Jack had no idea it was so detailed) so no one notices when Jack slips away. 

“Hey,” he says. Bitty jumps, twirling to look at him and his eyes go wide and frantic before seeing that Jack is alone.

“Give me one minute,” he says, scrubbing at a pot with more force than Jack thinks is necessary. “One minute and I’m out of here.”

“What?” Jack says, frowning. “Out of here? Bitty, you know you don’t have to leave, right? Everyone else is introducing themselves. Or Shitty is introducing them.”

“Well, I-” Bitty starts, still too focused on cleaning. “They can’t see me looking like _this_.”

Jack’s frown deepens. 

“But don’t worry,” Bitty is still talking. “There’s a pie in the oven and I’m not sure it’s perfect but if you take it out in fifteen minutes, it should be good enough and just don’t have them open the cabinets, okay? Or the fridge. It’s neat enough if no one opens anything. I’ll just skip upstairs.”

“Bitty,” Jack says. “You look fine.”

“Jack, I look-” Bitty starts and then waves a hand down his body as if that explains it. Jack makes a point of looking- Bitty is in his favorite pair of red shorts and a teal tanktop and, okay, there is a bit of flour across his cheek and in his hair but there is _always_ a bit of flour around Bitty so…

Maybe it’s not as dressed up as Bitty was planning to get but compared to all the rest of them, he looks put together. Even Jack is wearing a t-shirt (a Samwell Community College one that he stole from Ransom) and basketball shorts.

“George told me we weren’t supposed to dress up,” he says. 

“It’s not about being casual!” Bitty says, volume raising before his eyes skitter to the living room and it drops to a near whisper. “Jack, I look… _gay_.”

Jack goes very still.

“So?”

“So?” Bitty repeats. The pot is clean, Jack knows it is. “So, you are a professional athlete! You can’t be seen living with a freakin’ _gay_ boy.That’s how rumors start and it could affect your _career_ , Jack. This was supposed to be on Saturday - I was going to leave or find a pair of longer shorts or- or-”

“Bitty,” Jack says, stepping over to carefully pull the pot out of Bitty’s hands. “Do you care if people see you in this?”

Bitty blinks at him.

“I mean would it bother _you_ , not me, not my career. Do _you_ care?”

“Um, well, I- I guess not,” Bitty says. “I mean, everyone already… knows, so--”

“Okay then,” Jack replies and then he throws an arm over Bitty’s shoulders and steers him towards the living room and--

“And here’s the last roommate,” Jack announces once Ransom is done showing the camera crew their “Squat Spot” (yes it is taped off). “The most important, too, because he is in charge of cooking - Bitty.”

Luckily, Janelle doesn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, wow,” she says, grinning. “Are you ready to feed an NHL hockey player?”

“Well, ma’am, I sure hope so,” Bitty says and he’s flushing and Jack has to remember to drag his eyes away. “I mean, I’ve had practice with these other boys and Jack is updating the kitchen so…”

“Oh, well that sounds like a perfect next stop on our tour!” Janelle says and then when Bitty turns to Jack, clearly expecting him to take over, she whispers to Bitty, “Try to address the camera dear, I’m not actually in the shot!”

Bitty jumps a little at that but he does run a vlog on youtube that none of the boys are allowed to watch so in a few more moments, he is relaxing and giving the camera the tour of the kitchen ( _“yes, well, it is a lot of butter, but I promise I use it! Oh, and here’s Jack’s protein powder. It’s disgusting, honestly, so that’s the one thing he has to make on his own because_ I’m _certainly not touching it. No, sir. If y’all come back in a few minutes, I’ll have a pie ready for you.”_ )

Jack takes back over when they go up to his room, which he hadn’t bothered to clean but only because it’s never really that dirty. He blushes a bit when they find his biography of Alexander Hamilton by his bed and has to explain that, yes, he actually really likes reading history books and, oh god, yes, that is his baby picture; no, he was not a cute baby, but--

George has specifically told him that the camera crew didn’t need to go in all his roommates’ rooms if they weren’t comfortable with it but Ransom and Holster drag them up to the attic and Shitty leads them into Bitty and Lardo’s room so they can see the wall painting Lardo has done in there and well, Jack just prays that all Shitty’s weed is hidden when they go in there. It’s too small for him to follow anyway. And of course, they stop and focus on the art that lines the hallway of the bedrooms, which is small canvases done by all the ice crew on their Arts and Crafts days and, of course, Jack’s is the worst and Shitty is quick to point it out. He knows he is blushing. This is going to be so embarrassing. 

Jack had been told these things usually took about half an hour to shoot and then were cut down into about 5 minutes. 

The Haus tour takes about an hour and a half to complete and the final product is cut down to twenty minutes. With another ten of bloopers. Which include such gems as the Pink Floyd poster falling down and Holster and Ransom diving to block the middle finger from view; the cameraman finding a poorly hidden pile of beer cans (they get a perfect shot of Bitty facepalming there too); and Shitty proudly showing off a nude portrait of himself that Lardo did. They also include footage taken from outside the window of the boys frantically cleaning up when they arrive and Jack admitting that no, he did not give them warning as to when they would be coming. 

It goes on the website and it’s funny and they all watch it together for the first time and Jack laughs as much watching it as he is in the video.

_“So,” Janelle asks as Jack shows them the door at the end. “It’s quite a different living situation for you. Have you thought about how this is going to affect your gameplay at all?”_

Jack had been ready for this question, had prepared an answer about staying focused and the guys being respectful (and maybe buying earplugs if he had to) and how he thinks being happy to play the game again is going to help him. He watches as he takes a breath on camera and prepares to say all that, but there’s a crash from inside that the mic picks up and then laughter and instead--

 _“Um… not really,”_ he hears himself say. He ducks his head and takes a step back and lets out a bashful little laugh as if he can’t believe it himself and-- _“Am I allowed to say that? I just- well, I decided to move in because these guys are my best friends and I wanted to. It was… it was just for me, really.”_

There’s a pleasant beat of silence as the video closes on that - on Jack’s face, tinted red, eyes slightly unsure but a smile stretching one side of his mouth and he suspects Shitty is crying if his shuddering breath is anything to go by and then--

“I can’t believe they cut out the part about the ghosts!” Ransom says, throwing his hands in the air.

“I can’t believe you let them see my kitchen like that,” Bitty says. “I mean… there were still _dirty dishes_ in the sink, Jack. I watched all the other ones. The houses are always spotless. Goodness.”

“I was going to have that wall done,” Lardo mutters. 

“I’m just happy they didn’t find the bong,” Holster says. “It was under that pile of jackets the whole time.”

“It was _not_ ,” Bitty says. “I told you to hide it!”

Jack laughs and sends the link to his parents and, yes, it really was just for him. 

He doesn’t regret it.

*^*^*^

ESPN picks up the story since it is a continuation of their original story about Jack and the Ice Crew and they don’t play the whole thing, but they show highlights and it’s enough to get people to look up the full video. It gets more views than any other Falcs TV segment. More views than any press-related thing Jack has done. 

“Dudes, I think I was just recognized at our Stop and Shop,” Shitty says as he arrives home a week later. “At least, someone yelled SHITTY when they saw me and waved.”

“Might be your sweatpants, bro,” Lardo says. “Those things are disgusting.” 

It’s funny and everyone laughs and it will blow over in a few weeks, they all know that, but until it does, whenever someone recognizes Jack, the ice crew interjects and offers to sign their own autographs. 

Exactly how widespread the video becomes doesn’t really cross anyone minds.

End Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I promise Bitty and Jack will actually GET TOGETHER in the next chapter.


	3. The Bittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance for how this went down- ESSENTIALLY this is half of the old chapter three and then half new material that was supposed to be chapter 4.
> 
> If you do not want to have to re-read everything, skip to AFTER Jack becomes friends with Tater and start there. That is where the new stuff is.
> 
> The second half of chapter 3 has become chapter 4.
> 
> SORRY ABOUT THE WEIRD EDITING PROCESS THIS FIC HAS TAKEN!!

**The Bittles**

Two weeks later, Jack gets back from a run around 7am, which means everyone in the Haus is still asleep. He slows to a walk as a station wagon rolls past and for a moment, Jack thinks they are going to stop for an autograph (it’s happened before) but they keep moving. 

He grabs a drink of water and then heads back outside because they are in the middle of updating their air conditioning unit which means that it is actually cooler outside than inside. They have plans to go hang out at the rink today because apparently it’s their go to spot for when the air conditioning breaks. ( _“We actually slept in the breakroom for a whole week last summer,” Shitty says. “I have been naked throughout that entire rink.” “Bro, for real, the security here is not great,” Holster says. “We snuck in three air mattresses and no one even noticed.”_ )

Jack does some ab exercises in the front yard before stopping to stretch and he can’t say if it’s a leftover instinct from being aware on the ice or just a coincidence but he notices when the same car from before pulls up across from the Haus and stops. 

Of course, maybe it’s not the same car, Jack tells himself. So he continues stretching and tries to ignore it but--

But now he has an eye on it. And so he knows that whoever is in it has not left and the car is still running and for no real reason, it’s making Jack nervous.

Jack is pretty famous, especially in Providence, but paparazzi don’t generally come to his house. He’s simply not interesting enough. There are no real scandals attached to his name, except for a brief rumor that he was on steroids which turned out just to be his anti-anxiety medication.

That was years ago, when he first joined the NHL. There’s no reason for anyone to be here now. Even the slight rise in passer-bys after the Haus tour have slowed after Jack made it clear that he would _not_ sign autographs or take pictures with anyone who just turned up on his doorstep. (Shitty using the foghorn with reckless abandon did not hurt either).

Besides, when he squints to take a closer look, he sees that the woman is not holding a camera. She’s just… sitting there. Staring. 

Jack figures it has to be directed towards him and so he stares right on back, doing a few lunges in her direction so he can see her more clearly: sandy brown hair cut chin-length and usually with gawkers if you gawk right back it alarms them but she… well, he’s not sure she noticed him getting closer. Her eyes are angled slightly past him. Towards the Haus.

It’s been almost twenty minutes now. Maybe she’s lost? Either way, he’s not about to let someone stalk their house. Bitty will be up soon and the kitchen window faces the road. So he makes a show of stretching and jogging a little down the street before looping back to the car and--

He raps on her window once. She jumps enough, hand flying to her chest, that he feels guilty instantly even though she is the one who is being creepy.

He raises his hands and after a beat she rolls down her window.

“Are you lost?” he asks. He thinks she looks vaguely familiar actually- like someone he’s seen before. A fan maybe?

“Oh, oh, no, I- heavens, I-” she starts. She is talking very fast. Her words sound strange but there is again that pang of _I know this_ , “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ll just--”

“Are you okay?” he says, switching tracks. She seems like she’s about to cry. Maybe she already is. He didn’t mean to _scare_ her. 

“No, yes, I- I-” Her eyes finally leave the Haus and latch onto him. “You’re Jack Zimmermann.”

“Yes,” Jack says, frowning more. He figured that’s why she was here. To see him. The few people who have figured out where he lives generally are. Fans or _super_ fans or, in one memorable case, someone who had seen the tour and was there to give them Bibles. Shitty debated him for thirty minutes in boxers before he gave up and left. “Ma’am, do you need me to call someone?”

“No!” It’s a yelp that makes him feel like he should call someone in authority. A police officer. Maybe a hospital although she appears fine. “No, I’m- this is stupid, I shouldn’t be here at all. I just- He looked happy. In the video. Is he happy?”

“What? Who?” Jack says. He’s still slightly winded from his workout. He is not keeping up with this. “Ma’am, would you like to come--”

“Dicky!” She says, almost desperately as if that is supposed to mean something to him. “You- you live with him. The video said so. He- he was right there. In that house. You called him something else but he’s- he’s _Dicky_ and I just need to--”

It hits him all at once. Who this woman is. Who she is asking after. 

“Mrs. _Bittle_?” he says and Jack has previously thought that the sport of professional hockey had ensured he has felt every possible cocktail of emotion. 

It had not.

Because this… he’s shocked more than anything. Shocked and scared and _angry_ and overjoyed because _Bitty_ and there’s a rage there that alarms him and he’s not feeling these things in any kind of order. He’s feeling them all at once. 

All he can do is stare at her.

She flinches back from the name as if he’s cursed her. 

“I have to go,” she says, lunging for her keys. The car was already on so she ends up turning it off. “I- This was stupid. I can’t be here. I just wanted to--”

“No, wait,” Jack says. “Wait, you have to see him. You have to come in.”

“I can’t,” she’s crying now, fumbling to get the car in Park so she can turn it back on. “If my husband-- we agreed. Dicky- he made his choice. He’s-- he’s against everything we believe in and--”

“He’s not,” Jack says, a touch of anger entering his voice. “He’s not and he would want to see you. Please, I know--”

He is cut off by the engine starting up again. 

“I have to go,” she mumbles. Her eyes skitter to the Haus again. “I have to--”

Jack is forced to step back as the car starts pulling out of it’s spot but he doesn’t let go of where he’s clutching the window frame. 

“Mrs. Bittle, _please_ ,” he tries again. “Just wait.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s done it. She brakes and looks at him and this is it. She’s going to stop and he is going to tell her to just leave her car halfway in the middle of the road, that not that many people drive in this neighborhood, that he will handle it himself. He is going to get her in the house and put her in the kitchen - Bitty’s kitchen, she’ll want to see that. She’ll want to see how Jack had let Bitty pick all the decorations and Bitty’s baking supplies and when he’d finally got them a new fridge, they’d put the old one in the basement to use for beer so she could even open the fridge if she wanted. And he is going to run to Bitty’s room and tell him that _his mother is here_ that Jack got her to come inside and _Happy Birthday, Mama. Please call me, please call me_ Bitty is going to _get that_ and--

“Tell me he’s happy,” she says, looking up at him. She’s steeled herself, no longer fumbling. “Tell me.”

Jack sees this for what it is.

“Please,” he tries. “Please, you’re his _mother_. Please, come inside.”

Her eyes fill with tears again at that but she shakes her head and--

“Take care of him. Don’t tell him I was here.”

And then she hits the gas enough that he has no choice but to let go and Jack is left standing in the middle of the road.

*^*^*^

He’s not sure whether he wants to curse or cry. He might do both.

*^*^*^

By the time he gets out of the middle of the street, he has himself convinced that maybe it didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. It’s too… 

There’s no way she could have _been here_ and then _left_. 

He gets back into the Haus feeling slightly numb and _Don’t tell him I was here_ and he sits down at their kitchen island, pouring himself a glass of water and then promptly forgetting about it, and _Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him_ and he wants to go wake up Shitty, except not really. Not enough to actually move.

So when Bitty bustles in at 8:07, as usual, partly groggy but hips already moving to whatever music he is about to put on, he is still sitting there.

“Good morning!” Bitty says and it’s ridiculous that he’s up. Because Bitty does like to sleep in but he likes making breakfast for his friends more and so if Ransom and Holster have a summer class at 9am, he is up now, making sure they at least have scrambled eggs and--

“Bitty, I-” he starts and then he stops because it must not have been real. It can’t have been. 

Something in his voice must come out anyway because Bitty freezes and turns to him.

“Jack?” Bitty says. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

His hand is over his heart and god, that’s just what his mother did when Jack scared her by rapping on her window. It’s the same motion. 

“Is someone hurt?” Bitty asks, walking to stand next to him. “Are _you_ hurt? Should I go get Shitty?”

“No, Bitty,” Jack says. “No, I- Your mom was just here.”

Bitty freezes. There’s no other word for it. His entire body stills and he stops breathing and his eyes are wide and scared.

“That’s not possible,” he says. “What? Where?”

“She was outside,” Jack says. “I- she was _right there_ and then she-” he waves a hand uselessly.

“Jack, that doesn’t…” Bitty starts again. “What are you talking about?”

Jack takes a breath. He has to focus. He’s not the one who can fall apart right now.

“I went for a run,” he starts. “When I got back, I noticed a car - a station wagon - just sitting across the street. So after a while, I went over. I thought maybe they were lost. So I went over and it was… this woman. She rolled down her window and started saying she shouldn’t be here and then asked me if Dicky--” Bitty inhales sharply at that. Like the nickname makes sense to him. 

“She wanted to know if you were happy,” Jack says. “I _told_ her to come inside, Bitty, I did, as soon as I realized who she was but she started talking about how she had to leave, how you--”

_Made his choice. He’s against everything we believe._

He cuts himself off. He will take some this conversation to his grave. 

“How you couldn’t know she was here,” he corrects. “She said you looked happy in the video. She wanted to know if it was true.”

“The- the video?” Bitty echoes. 

“From the Haus tour,” Jack says. “She must have seen it. She wanted me to tell her you were happy but I told her she should come and talk to you herself, and she- she just drove away.”

Bitty sits down in one of the tall chairs. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, feeling his heart start to race as the numbness breaks. “God, Bitty, I’m so sorry. I should’ve- I didn’t know what to say but I _tried_. I promise I did. We can-- we can go to the airport if you want. Look for flights heading back to Georgia.”

“No,” Bitty says. He’s not looking at Jack anymore. He’s staring blankly at the wall. His voice comes out completely flat. “No, if it was a green station wagon, it was hers. She drove.”

“It was only… twenty minutes ago,” Jack offers. “We can-”

“No, it’s,” Bitty starts and then stops. “It’s okay. I just… I don’t know what to do with this information.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “I- do you want me to leave?”

Bitty likes that. Being alone to deal with things. It’s not Jack’s favorite thing to do- to leave when he wants to stay but he will do it if that’s what Bitty wants.

“No, no,” Bitty says, shaking his head and standing. “I want… fuck, I want- why did she have to come here?”

He walks around the island and opens a cabinet drawer only to close it again. 

“She- she wanted to know if you were happy,” Jack offers. “Maybe--”

“Well she doesn’t get to know that!” Bitty says. “She- she doesn’t get to just _roll in here_ and feel better after they _kicked me out of the house when I was 18 years old_.”

“I know,” Jack says, rising and hoping that Shitty somehow hears and comes down. Shitty is great at this. At taking someone’s anger and agreeing with it while twisting it down into something else. Jack is- Jack is a mess. “I know, Bitty, I didn’t tell her anything.”

“Was she upset?” Bitty asks, whirling on Jack. Jack flinches. He doesn’t know what the answer is here. “Well?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess,” Jack says. “Yes.” She was. She was crying. 

“Great,” Bitty says, throwing up one hand. “That’s great. She’s upset. _Now_ she’s upset. She sees a video of me being _happy_ and decides that _now_ she should drop in. And be upset.”

“I… I think she misses you,” Jack says. “I mean, it seemed like.”

“She doesn’t _have_ to miss me!” Bitty says. “She could fix this! So _easily_. God, if she had just _called_ on my birthday or texted me back on hers, then… She doesn’t get to just _do_ this. Leave again without really being here.”

He slams a few more things down on the counter and Jack wants to apologize but he knows that will just turn into Bitty tell _him_ that it’s okay and if Bitty wants to be angry, he should be and not worry about Jack and-

“It’s fine,” Bitty says, more to himself than Jack. “Really. I’ll- I’ll get over it. I just- whatever.”

He still looks angry though, angry and maybe sad and he keeps pulling the same bag of flour out of the cabinet and then putting it away as if he doesn’t actually know what he’s making. 

“Bitty,” Jack says. “Would you- would you like to go to Annie’s?”

It’s a little coffee shop that Bitty always looks into but never goes to because it’s too expensive. It’s only a five minute walk away. 

“I- okay,” he says. “Okay, yes.”

*^*^*^

“I thought they knew.”

Bitty had gone silent on the way to Annie’s and Jack hadn’t broken the stillness, content to try out different lines in his head and try to find one that fit. Something that was supportive without being dismissive, encouraging without ringing false. So as they get their drinks - regular coffee for Jack, some iced monstrosity for Bitty - and go sit in one of the table outside, Jack is distracted.

He must have missed Bitty’s first line. He kicks himself.

But as he opens his mouth to apologize and ask Bitty to repeat himself, Bitty explains. Eyes still dropped to stare at his name - _Bitty_ \- on the side of his coffee cup.

“My parents,” Bitty says, face flashing into a grimace. He looks up but his eyes don’t seem to be quite focused on Jack. “I thought they knew. About me.”

“Oh,” Jack says. 

“I mean… I don’t think I did that great a job hiding it,” Bitty continues. “I was always baking and then, there was the figure skating and… well, all the kids in my school seemed to figure it out easily enough so…”

He fades off, shifts, and Jack realizes that this is Bitty telling him the story. The full story. 

“I wasn’t the kid who _knows_ he is going to get kicked out when he comes out but does it anyway because he decides he doesn’t care. I- I wouldn’t have been strong enough for that. Would have hidden it forever, probably but… I figured they knew.”

His voice is quiet enough now that Jack has to strain to hear it.

“All the signs were there,” Bitty says, taking a sip of his coffee that is too slow to be natural. “No interest in girls, got bullied, never really fit in with anyone...”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, even though that is a useless statement. It doesn’t matter that he’s sorry. It still happened. Bitty still had to deal with it. 

“It’s fine,” Bitty says, shrugging. “Nothing _that_ bad happened. It’s just... when I sat them down two weeks before I was supposed to start college, I didn’t… I just thought they knew.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat and Jack doesn’t either. He doesn’t think Bitty wants him to. Bitty’s eyes are back on the table and he takes another careful sip of his coffee. 

“I thought I was ready for it,” he admits. “My parents were - are - pretty religious but they weren’t… I told myself they would be a little upset, maybe, and my dad would be uncomfortable but I was going to take the two weeks to prove that I was still _me_ , you know? And then go to college and come back maybe with a cute boyfriend or something and it would all…” He waves a hand. “I figured it would work out.”

He takes another sip then and Jack realizes dimly that he has not had a single taste of his own coffee. He does now. Forgets that his is hot and burns his entire mouth. Doesn’t flinch. 

“It wasn’t terrible,” Bitty says, but his eyes go up and to the side and the look in them negates the statement he just made. “I mean… no one got violent or anything. My dad didn’t call me the f-word. My mom- she just- she wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Bitty,” Jack starts. Bitty doesn’t even glance over.

“I had this whole speech planned but… she was hysterical and whenever I tried to say something she cried _more_ and she just… She wouldn’t stop crying.”

Bitty’s eyes look moist. But he twists his mouth into a smile and offers it to Jack anyway.

“I managed to ask her, you know, if she at least _suspected_ , I mean at one point I had mentioned that all her grandkids were probably going to be _adopted_ so…” He shrugs.

“‘Nice boy,’ that’s what she said. ‘I thought I was raising a _nice boy_.’” Bitty’s fist clenches at that.

“I guess that was her reasoning. For why I never snuck out to see girls and never got caught watching porn or something. I was a ‘nice boy.’”

Bitty takes a breath. Jack tries to remind himself to breathe as well. 

“Finally, after like an hour of her crying, Coach told me to leave, that I was upsetting Mama and should get out and I was still… god, I was so surprised that I didn’t even argue with him. I just went upstairs and threw some stuff in my hockey bag and I remember being so proud of myself that I remember my laptop charger. Like that was going to be important.”

A part of Jack wants Bitty to stop. Because Jack has never had trouble picturing the worst case scenario and for every sentence that Bitty says, he can add a thousand more details and it’s too- he can’t believe that it happened. 

“I still didn’t get it, either,” Bitty says with a shake of his head. “Even after that. I went back down and I actually _asked_ what I was supposed to do for two weeks. Since the dorms didn’t open for two weeks.”

Jack knows that this is what they were building to, he knows the story. Something in his chest still splinters. 

“Such an idiot,” Bitty mutters. “He had to _tell_ me that- that they weren’t going to pay anymore and I just sort of nodded at him and stood there and meanwhile Mama is still on the couch crying and when I finally walk out the door, she doesn’t even say anything and--”

He cuts off.

“Well, you know the rest,” he says, clearing his throat. “It worked out. A week later I ended up at Faber and here we are.”

Jack wonders if he’ll ever get to hear about that week. The week-long journey to get from Georgia to Rhode Island. 

“I’m so… I’m so _sorry_ , Bitty,” Jack says and it feels like the most useless statement in all of history but Bitty’s eyes flick to him and he smiles, just a little. Just on the edges of his mouth. “That that happened.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty says. “I just… I can’t- I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep… spending holidays on my phone, hoping that this is the year they finally give in and call. Or avoiding making their favorite pie or getting so _angry_ at them all the time and then just still hoping that they turn up one day.”

“Yeah,” Jack says because Bitty pauses and looks at him. “I mean, that… that sounds like a good plan.”

“I think so,” Bitty says, a weak smile coming to his face. “I just never quite manage to follow it.”

*^*^*^

Annie’s becomes a thing. They go randomly, just the two of them. Jack chirps Bitty when he tries to pay and Bitty tries to make him like his ridiculously sweet coffee. They don’t talk about Bitty’s parents again but Bitty tells him all about his figure skating coach and Jack tells him stories from Juniors and they debate how to say the word ‘pecan’ and argue about television shows and for the first time in his life, Jack thinks he will be a little bit disappointed when hockey season starts. 

*^*^*^

Despite how much his life has changed, especially since moving in with the ice crew (he has participated in approximately seventeen water gun fights this summer and broke into one public pool at 2 o’clock in the morning), Jack still somehow expects his job with the Falconers to remain the same. Sure, by the end of last year, he was smiling a little bit more, fooling around and offering to try to teach them some of the moves that Bitty managed to pull off effortlessly and he’d gone to a few house parties this summer and felt like he’d actually had some good stories to contribute, but to them he still had to be Jack Zimmermann, their captain. 

He was not prepared for Alexei Mashkov. 

The Falconers picked up the very large Russian from the Kontinental League in a mid-summer deal and Jack isn’t there for it but,

“We’re calling him Tater, Cap,” Marty tells him the morning of their second day of full practice. “And the little baby rookie is Poots.”

“Sounds good,” Jack replies even though the rookie now known as Poots looks a little bit less than pleased with the nickname. If he really hates it he can get it changed, Jack knows. But right now complaining would make it even worse. 

Tater wins everyone over instantly. He booms when he speaks and goes around hugging people and asking a thousand questions that Jack suspects he only gets away with because of his halting accent and huge grin ( _“Ah, this is where old people sit? I see - where do young people eat? I wan to sit with people who won’t fall asleep halfway through meal.”; “You are very short for hockey player, Poots, in my country we keep you on peewee team. Must mean you are very good, yes?”; “You call Zimmermann ‘Zimms?’ or ‘Captain’? No, this is no good. We are not on ship. I come up with better. You wait.”)_

Jack would be the first person to say that he can be intense on the ice (when he’s not with the ice crew) and for three years now, that and his position as captain have kept people from bothering him too much. He’d been chirped as a rookie but also won the Calder Memorial and wasn’t willing to risk going out and drinking with the others when he was only eighteen so… It’s not that the guys on the team step carefully around him, it’s that they have created a dance to which is he not quite a part of. 

Which is okay. On the ice, he’s in charge; in the locker room, he leaves it to the more popular guys- Snowy, their goalie; Thirdy, Marty, and Guy; and now Tater. 

Tater does not accept this. 

“Okay,” he says, plopping down next to Jack on the third day of practice. His tone says private conversation, his pitch invites the whole locker room to pay attention. “When do we play with ice crew? I saw on ESPN that we do that here.”

Jack blinks. He’s not expecting the question. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Snowy says and Jack doesn’t know what’s happening but Snowy flashes him a smile that indicates friendliness. “Cap here doesn’t make us go to his extra practices.”

“No, no,” Tater says. “I want to go. When do we start?”

“Um,” Jack says. He had played with the ice crew all summer. He’d played after Monday’s practice. “Well, usually I just eat lunch here and then play.”

“See,” Snowy says. “Not worth it, man.”

“That ice crew is Team Zimms,” Marty adds. “They don’t need you taking up all their space.”

“Come to lunch with us instead,” Snowy agrees. “Leave dear old Captain Jack to get his extra ice time in peace.”

It finally occurs to Jack that his teammates are trying to keep Tater away because they think Jack doesn’t _want_ him there. That they are trying to help him, in their own way. It’s…

He never meant to _exclude_ the Falconers from the ice crew, he just always figured they wouldn’t want to come. It is… it is a lot of hockey. But it’s… he’s not _ashamed_ of either side. 

“You can come if you want, Tater,” Jack says, going for casual. “It’s a lot of fooling around but you’re more than welcome. Everyone is.”

There are a few surprised glances at that and, again, Jack realizes that he must have been broadcasting some sort of _Don’t bother me after practice_ message that he definitely did not mean but Tater doesn’t pick up on any of it, just grins and throws his shoulder into Poots (almost knocking him over) and,

“Yes, I get to play with famous ice crew, first! This is good. They like me more than they like Zimms, you see.”

Jack laughs and has no doubt that the ice crew will love Tater ( _not as much as him though,_ he assures himself. Shitty had just recently declared Jack to be _the most fucking incredible human I have ever had the privilege of knowing on this mortal plane_ the other day. Jack had given him the last piece of pie.) Tater arrives and instantly introduces himself to everyone, shaking hands and--

“Finally!” he booms when he meets Holster. “Someone who is proper size. Are you Russian?”

He goes on to compliment Shitty on his mustache, Bitty on the jump he had seen, and he tells Lardo that she is very, very short, but then nods frantically when she informs him that she could kill him without bothering to look and--

“Yes,” he says, bowing his head. “Yes, you could. Perfect size. You are perfect size. For everything.” 

He gives Jack a wince as he turns from her and “Why you no warn me about the small one?” he whispers. “Bad captain. I thought you liked me.”

Jack laughs and practice starts with Tater suggesting that he and Holster pass Bitty between them “like volley ball, yes?” and that is a skate to the face waiting to happen but luckily Shitty suggests adding Tater to their soccer-inspired wall idea first (which at least demotes the danger to puck to the face) and--

It is fun. Just as fun as ice crew always is. Maybe more. Because Tater losing a face-off to Dex and then demanding three more rematches which he _also loses_ is the greatest thing Jack has ever seen.

When the ice crew gets serious, Jack drags Tater away and leads him to the stands to sit down. Tater flops next to Jack on a chair, breathing hard but grinning. 

“This is fun,” he says. “I see why you like it. But also… work.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding. “It’s a lot of ice time.”

“No wonder you lead league scorer in third period,” Tater replies. “Good stamina.”

Jack nods again and passes Tater what’s left of his water bottle. He knows to always have one. He’s just going to sit for a second, really, before heading to help Lardo organize the equipment room. The beginning of the season is always crazy for her. 

“You are not captain,” Tater says, voice dropping into what might be considered serious. “With them.”

“What?” Jack asks.

“You,” Tater says, pointing to Jack. “Not their captain. More relaxed. Happy.”

“Well, of course,” Jack says. He doesn’t think the ice crew really has a captain. Maybe Shitty during practice. Ransom and Holster during games. Bitty whenever they are home. 

“Is good,” Tater says. “No one should be captain all the time.”

Jack nods again. He supposes that’s true. Or it is for him. There’s too much pressure. 

“You don’t have to be captain with us all the time either,” Tater says. “On ice, okay, most of the time, yes. Be captain. But in locker room? No. No not all the time.”

“I- I try not to boss people around in the locker room,” Jack says, frowning. He isn’t quite sure what Tater is getting at. He tries to shut up in the locker room. To let everyone have their fun. 

“No, you still captain,” Tater says. “Quiet, but still captain. You should try being… like this. No captain.”

“I- okay,” Jack says because it’s been only about a week but he knows that agreeing with Tater is the only way to really get him to stop arguing.

And… he thinks Tater might be right. He… he has to think about it more later but…

He’s not particularly quiet with the ice crew these days. Maybe in comparison to the rest of them (because, honestly, when _does_ Shitty shut up?) but not… not like he is with the Falconers. With the ice crew, he feels comfortable enough to joke around and to tackle Shitty if he needs to and-- 

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” Tater says. “You Americans, so stupid. Russia, we know how to have a good time.”

“I’m Canadian,” Jack says.

“They stupid too.”

*^*^*^

The next week Tater comes to another ice crew practice and this time he doesn’t fall asleep in the stands and so rises to join Jack to help clean up. 

“You really don’t have to,” Bitty says. 

“No, no, I help,” Tater says. “Then you give me more pie, yes?” Jack had made this mistake of revealing to the team that it was Bitty who made his “welcome back” pies. Tater has not let go of the fact. 

“No pie for you,” Bitty replies. “I already got yelled at by your nutritionist. And it’s only the second week.”

“We keep it a secret,” Tater says. “Russians know how to keep secret, Eric Bittle. It is in our blood. From the Communism.”

“That makes no sense and you know it,” Bitty says and then he is reaching up to shove Tater away. “Now go help Jack with the Zamboni.”

Tater laughs and obediently skates away.

“Maybe he is captain,” he grumbles to Jack as he drags himself up. “Now, you sure you know how to drive this thing? I do not want to die before first game.”

“Yes,” Jack says, laughing. “I know how to drive a zamboni. I’m better than Shitty.”

“Hah!” Tater lets out his usual blast of laughter. “I like this. Zimmerman driving zamboni- Zimmboni!!”

Jack rolls his eyes even as he realizes this just may stick.

“This is better than Zimms or Captain, yes? This okay?” Tater asks and Jack knows it is his captain’s privilege that gives him any say in this. “Zimmboni?”

Jack grins. “Alright,” he says and the next day the entire locker room hears about Tater’s amazing practice with the ice crew and his new idea for a nickname and when Poots laughs and tries it out, Jack frowns at him and stands, pulling himself to full height and advances slowly.

“That’s _Captain_ Zimmboni to you, Poots,” he says, glaring, and the locker room laughs and--

Yes, okay. Maybe Tater was right. Maybe he doesn’t have to be the captain all the time.

*^*^*^

A week later, after Poots stops looking green around the gills at the end of every practice, Jack notices him hovering on the ice and he frowns, at first worried that their rookie has somehow managed to _injure_ himself.

“You okay?” Jack says, skating up.

Poots jumps three feet in the air.

“Oh! Yes!” he says. “Oh, yes, I was just.. Err… uh…”

Jack blinks, trying to run through his memory to see if Poots needs help with something in particular but he’s doing fine, really, and--

“Do you want to hang out with me and the ice crew?” Jack asks.

“Really?” Poots sounds like Jack just told him Christmas has come early. “I mean, uh, I wouldn’t want to interfere but Tater said that one of them was the fastest player and, well, well, I’m pretty fast I think so I was hoping to…”

“Of course, you can come,” Jack says, fighting to keep from smiling. “Like I said before, everyone is welcome. Just don’t injure yourself trying to beat Bitty, okay?”

“Okay,” Poots says. “Okay I won’t.”

“Because he is faster,” Jack adds. “Much faster.”

*^*^*^

The worst part about the fact that Johnson moved, the boys tell Jack forlornly one day in September, is that they can never play full scrimmages anymore. They go as far as to try to put Tater in a goal but he lasts all of five minutes before giving up after falling for the old “Bitty is secretly behind Holster” trick play (they boys say it’s ready for their next game). 

So, Jack goes to Snowy. 

“Hey,” he says as the coaches call for an end to practice. “Hey, feel free to say no, but, uh… would you like stick around and goaltend a little more?”

Snowy blinks at him. Tater and Poots hit up ice crew practice about once a week and Thirdy and Marty had gone to one at the end of August, but Snowy is the first person that Jack has _invited_.

Jack doesn’t know why this makes him unreasonably nervous. Maybe because Snowy is only two years older than Jack and is essentially in charge of the Falconer’s social life. He has been around to remember Jack’s “robot years” but is young enough to maybe be offended by the fact that Jack had refused every invitation he ever made and--

“Yeah, sure, man,” Snowy says. “For the ice crew?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, their backup goalie moved out and so they haven’t been able to scrimmage since.”

“That fucking sucks,” Snowy says. “Yeah, sure, this’ll be sick. I’ll give anyone who scores on me twenty bucks. Including you, Zimmboni.”

(It turns out that Snowy is not ready for the Holster/Bitty trick play either. Holster insists that they should both get twenty dollars. Snowy buys him a drink instead.)

So Snowy comes to practice and so then next time he has a party at his house, he invites Jack _and_ the ice crew and…

By the time the season starts, there has been a full game between the Falconers and the ice crew. All the Falconers have various handicaps (Snowy isn’t allowed to wear a goalie glove, Tater can’t check anyone, the Falconers have to pass the puck five times before they can shoot) and Jack and Poots play for the ice crew. Lardo serves as official referee and calls all the penalties in favor of the ice crew so it’s one long power play for them, really, until the score becomes 5 to 1 and the Falconers make the case that Chowder is good enough that they should be allowed to shoot without the passing rule.

It counts as an optional practice and it’s wonderful and his team laughs at him when Bitty (acting ice crew captain) pulls him aside to yell at him but then Bitty smirks and orders Holster and Ransom to check Guy into next week so...

Hockey becomes even more fun. Jack tells the coaches he would be happy to room with Tater on roadies and he decides that planning pranks with Snowy on Poots is fun (and gets ideas from Nursey of all people, apparently boarding schools are no noke) and most flights, he still likes to relax in the back with a history book, but Snowy starts inviting him to sit in the front with the younger guys and every once and awhile, he says yes. 

( _“Ah, betrayal!” Thirdy jokes when Jack leaves him to go up front. “I’m writing a sad poem about this right now.”_ )

The Falconers play and play and they win and most guys are actually tired after the games and practices ( _“Not all hockey robot like you, Zimmboni.”_ ) so usually it’s just Jack and the ice crew, but Tater comes to enough of them that even Chowder stops making a big deal of it. Bitty sort of adopts Poots ( _“The boy told me he ate_ frozen _lazagna, Jack. After heating it up in the_ microwave _!! I cannot imagine...)_ and Snowy gets along with well… everyone. Because he’s Snowy. 

The two worlds blend and Jack is left wondering why on earth he didn’t do this sooner.

*^*^*^

The thing about having routines and liking them, at least for Jack, is that he’s always been able to tell when something is off. 

Before he met the ice crew, he had a strict schedule and he knew that if he could just make sure to follow it, to mentally check off everything on that list, he would be fine. And he had contingencies. If he craved ice cream and ate it, he knew to do 15 extra minutes of running the next day and some crunches to make up for it. If he felt he was hungry all the time, he went to his nutritionist. If he woke up before his alarm more than 3 times a week, it meant his anxiety might be acting up again and he had to identify what was making him anxious and fix it or maybe call his therapist and switch his meds around. 

The ice crew had started to chip away at his strict schedules and now that he’s living with them, they’ve almost wiped them out completely. At least the little ones. He keeps his mornings the same and game days the same but in the evenings there is no way to know whether everyone is going to want to play Halo or whether Shitty will be wearing clothes or whether Ransom and Bitty will decide that tonight is the night for an SQUAT CHALLENGE and Bitty will have to ignore him in favor of doing a million different kinds of squats (and then both will be sore for days afterwards even though Jack _told_ them to not go so hard!). There’s no way to predict when exactly Shitty will tackle him or when Holster will decide to join in and sing at the top of his lungs with Bitty or when Lardo will repaint that one wall in the living room _again_ just because she feels like it.

Somedays the Haus will be almost silent and sometimes it will be the loudest place on earth and sometimes everyone will listen to him when he says they should probably quiet down for the sake of the neighbors and sometimes they will just turn the volume louder.

So his schedule is out the window but Jack is still fundamentally a person who likes to know what is happening so he finds himself quietly categorizing how his roommates act when they feel a certain way and what he can do to help them and it’s not something he does consciously (because when he does actually _think_ about it, it makes him feel like all those times he’s been called a robot are true) but he gets good at it. 

At reading his roommates even though almost everyone else in the world is a mystery to him. He works them into his routines just like he did before.

When Holster’s knee is hurting him (more common in the winter months), he says he’s not in the mood for pie, so Jack casually clears off the coffee table and puts his feet up so Holster can copy him. When Ransom is about to freak out over a test, he forgets to eat or drink so Jack makes it a part of his routine to get him water and just place it next to his arm. Sometimes if his knuckles brush it enough, he will actually drink some, just to keep it from spilling. When Lardo is stuck on an art project, she likes to try fifteen different things at once but it actually _helps_ when she sits down and just thinks it over, so Jack goes and sits with her. 

His roommates are the most unpredictable people on the planet but Jack learns to respond. He likes it. It settles him and makes him feel useful and without thinking about it, that becomes part of his new schedule, disorganizing as it may be.

Again, it makes it very easy to tell when something is off. When new data presents itself.

Like right now.

Because right now, it’s a fairly typical Tuesday night - everyone is watching a movie, Jack has an ice bag wrapped around his knee from a hit he took yesterday, Holster and Ransom are playing old gameboys they’d found online last week, Bitty is curled into the armchair - but it’s not quite right. 

It itches at Jack until he look down and realizes that Bitty has not reached over and poked his finger into Jack’s ice pack, which he loves doing and instead he staring just to the side of the TV. There’s a little frown on his face that looks… new. It’s not his worried one that makes his eyes look huge or the sad one that always has him looking down. It’s… it’s a little similar to when he takes a bite of pie that he decides isn’t good enough but not the same. 

Jack doesn’t know what it is. And he’s… well, somehow it’s ended up that he and Bitty sort of… pair off together. When Shitty and Lardo are hanging out and Ransom and Holster disappear to do best friends things, he and Bitty… Jack doesn’t know if he can say he is Bitty’s _best_ friend because now he has to be away for hockey and that’s only going to get worse, but… But they go to Annie’s sometimes. They play on the same line. Tater teases Bitty by saying “I know Jack is favorite, but me second favorite, yes?”

If something is wrong, Jack wants to know what it is. 

So, when Bitty leaves to get ready for bed, Jack waits downstairs (swinging into the kitchen to pull down the Advil from the top shelf because Lardo is frowning at her sketchbook and tugging on her left earlobe and that means a frustration headache is coming and she is really too short to get the Advil down from where they keep it). He waits until he hears the bathroom door close and open twice (Bitty walks around while brushing his teeth) and then he’s still a little over eager but he manages to linger by his doorway and--

“Hey, Bitty,” Jack says as Bitty steps out of the bathroom. Bitty jumps. It’s possible Jack should have moved around a bit while he was waiting. Too late to change it now. “Is something wrong?”

“Something wrong?” Bitty repeats, sounding surprised. “No? I don’t think so… are you worried about something?”

It doesn’t sound like Bitty is trying to turn this around on him (Bitty never does). It sounds like he is honestly confused and for a moment Jack thinks that maybe he is overreacting or maybe that frown was never there but… Jack’s instincts are rarely wrong. Not about Bitty. Bitty is almost like hockey for him. 

“Before,” he explains, waving a hand downstairs as if that will help. “When we were watching the movie, you looked… distracted?”

“Oh,” Bitty says and his guilty little start tells Jack that he is right about this. “Oh, that’s… that’s nothing, Jack.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack says, because pressure is wrong. Shitty didn’t even have to teach him that. He knows that from personal experience. “I just-- you’re okay, right?”

“Yes, Jack,” Bitty says laughing and ducking his head. “I’m fine. I’ll just-- we’ll worry about it later.”

“So there is something to worry about.”

“No, there’s-- goodness, I think about something for one moment and you somehow pick up on it,” Bitty doesn’t sound annoyed though. More… fondly exasperated. 

“Well… I’m watching,” Jack says and, well, that was not quite what he meant to say but it’s already out now. “I mean, if something is wrong and you want to talk about it...”

“No, I--” Bitty starts and then the same frown flashes across his face. “I was going to wait until after the season was over.”

“What?” Jack says. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t--” Bitty says, flushing himself. “Well, I just figured it’s something that we could just wait til the summer. To do.”

“Don’t,” Jack says. That’s still over six months away. Hopefully more. “I mean, life doesn’t stop just because it’s hockey season.”

Jack likes that he can get that out smoothly. That maybe no one knows that up until last year that used to be exactly what Jack thought. Or maybe he thought that hockey season _was_ life and summer was when it stopped. 

Either way. He doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want Bitty to wait.

“Well,” Bitty says and the frown that Jack doesn’t recognize deepens for a flash before transforming into something more uncertain. “I was thinking that this summer- when we have time, you know? I was thinking…”

He stops and his mouth twists to the side and Jack waits because he knows Bitty and he knows being rushed when you are trying to get something out is the worst. 

“I was thinking that maybe we could go get my stuff,” Bitty says. “I mean… it’s _mine_. My figure skating trophies and old school projects and there’s a photo album of old baby photos of me and then another of my figure skating friends and… it’s my stuff. Even if they don’t want to talk to me, it’s still mine. They don’t get to just _keep_ it.”

Bitty’s voice has risen again and the frown is back but Jack recognizes it for what it is now: determination and just a touch of anger. 

“Okay,” he says, hurrying to nod. “Okay, that sounds-- you should do that, Bitty.”

Bitty blinks and then flushes.

“Well, I- well, the reason I was going to wait until after the season is that I hoped you would… come with me?” 

Jack doesn’t know why the idea makes him stupidly happy. When he suddenly has to fight the urge to grin because Bitty is _including him_ in something so big. 

“Well, you and all the boys, really,” Bitty says. “I mean, not _just_ you. That would be- uh, you know. But if you could come that would be… good.”

“Yes,” Jack says. “I can come.”

“Great!” Bitty says, a smile that is a bit too forced taking over his face. “And, uh, well, I don’t really have the space in my room so maybe, I was thinking… if you wouldn’t mind storing them in yours or, wait, I could get a storage facility, those exist. So nevermind. Uh. Um. Yes.” 

“Bitty,” he says, fighting the urge to take a step closer. They are in a hallway. They are already close enough. “Of course you can keep all your stuff in my room.” If there’s too much stuff, Jack will just pay for a storage facility and then un-lease his house as soon as possible and store it all there for him. Until he has his own place. Obviously.

Bitty looks up at him and smiles and-- “Thank you,” he says. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it, I guess. How it’s not fair. How I shouldn’t have to lose everything just because they can’t--”

He stops himself before taking a breath and refocusing. “So, yes. That’s something I’d like to do once the season’s over. Drive down or fly down for a day and get it. If you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”

“We don’t have to wait til the end of the season,” Jack says. “I mean, hell Bitty, we can go next time we have a free weekend.”

Bitty looks a bit shocked. Maybe scared. 

“If you want,” Jack tacks on. “I mean if you’d rather wait til summer then… whatever you want Bitty. I can’t miss a game but I could miss a practice.”

“I- okay,” Bitty says and the nod he gives is short and clipped. “Okay, I will look into that.”

Jack nods and it feels oddly formal, like they’ve come to some sort of agreement standing in the hallway between their two rooms. It’s tense for no real reason and Jack considers inviting Bitty into his room just because… well one time there was a Bittle family emergency, he and Bitty had ended up passed out in the same bed. Though… of course, that only made sense because Jack wasn’t living there yet and--

“Goodnight, Jack,” Bitty says, and this nod is softer. A tilt rather than a jerk.

“Night, Bitty.”

*^*^*^

In the end, Bitty realizes that they have a three day weekend in mid-October and he asks Shitty, Ransom, and Holster to come with them too (“to help carry stuff” is what he says; to be there is what Jack thinks he means; Lardo, Chowder, Nursey, and Dex stays behind only there isn’t room in the car) and so Jack buys them all one way tickets to Madison and then they rent a Suburban and tell the rental place they need the back seats removed and they head to Bitty house.

The ride from the airport is long and hot and Shitty complains good naturedly about being the one stuck in the middle seat and all three of the boys try to crush each other with every turn that Jack makes but Bitty laughs and puts on music. They all sing along loudly and Jack focuses on not crashing the car, especially when Shitty props his bare feet up on the center console and tries to demand foot massages. 

The gang sort of naturally falls silent as they get off the highway and then get into more and more residential areas. Bitty turns down the music, turning it off completely when he finally tells Jack--

“Stop here.” Jack obeys and pulls to the side of the road. In front of a house that looks neat and well cared for and fits with every other house on the street. They are different enough not to seem cookie-cutter but after living in the less nice section of Providence in a house where the front porch is _obviously_ slanted, it seems freaky anyway. 

“You okay, Bits?” Jack asks. Bitty hasn’t taken his eyes from the house. He nods silently. 

Shitty pops his head between them.

“Do you want us to stay in the car or--?” he offers. 

“Yeah,” Holster says, leaning forward as well. “We can do whatever you want, Bitty. Just tell us. Your call.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, voice coming out a pitch too high. “Okay just… give me a second.”

All of them obediently fall silent and, through the rearview mirror, Jack stares at a woman walking her dog and can’t help but wonder if Bitty knows her, if she knows Bitty, if she knows what happened. 

A few a moment, Bitty takes a breath.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this. In and out.”

“So we’re-?” Ransom starts.

“You’re coming with me,” Bitty says and then he’s opening the passenger door and Jack and the others scramble to follow and the woman with the dog is definitely staring now. Which is fair. Five men have just piled out of a car a few feet ahead of her. Three are over 6 foot. One is black. Another has long hair and is wearing a bandana and an American Flag jean vest whose sleeves have been torn off. The last might look semi-familiar to her but also maybe not because Bitty got his hair trimmed for this occasion and it’s a bit too chilly for his shortest shorts but his pants are tight and his shirt is a low cut teal v-neck that had already gotten them plenty of looks in the airport. 

Jack hates Madison. 

Still, Bitty doesn’t break stride, marching up to the door like he’s on a mission and then he rings the bell and--

“Bits, does your family have _guns_?” Ransom whispers from where he, Shitty, and Holster have halted at the bottom step of their porch. “Because I’m Canadian but I’ve read about the south and I think that woman is about to sic her dog on me. Or maybe it’s the dog. I’ve heard about racist dogs and--”

“Rans! Shut up!” Shitty hisses. 

“That dog is a poodle, bro.”

Jack turns to yell at them but Bitty glances back and smiles just a bit so Jack relaxes.

Then the door opens to reveal a man. He’s middle-aged and his figure shows it, shorter and thick around the middle with reddish-brown hair and a mustache that on any other human, Shitty would be excited to see. He looks mildly annoyed at having been interrupted and then his eyes finally travel down to Bitty and--

“Junior,” his voice is gruff, surprised. “What’re you--”

“Coach,” Bitty says and Jack knows that it’s the first time he’s seen his father since he was thrown out of his house three years ago but he sounds firm. And he’s meeting his father eyes. “I understand if you and Mama don’t want to talk to me, but these are my friends and we are here to get my stuff.”

On the bottom steps of the porch, Shitty, Ransom, and Holster nod. They’ve carried out boxes with them and set them down on the landing as well. Jack just glares. He is willing to check this man into next week if he has to. 

“I-” Bitty’s father- Coach - starts. “Well, I-”

“I hate to rush this,” Bitty continues, drawing himself up even more. “But Jack here is a professional hockey player and he has a game on Monday. So we will need to do this rather quickly.”

And then, well, he sort of shoulders past his father. Jack and the others follow. 

“Now, wait just a second,” Bitty’s father says but by the time Shitty crosses the threshold it’s too late. Ransom and Holster both tower over Bitty’s father and he’s outnumbered and the woman with the dog outside is now openly staring. Jack doesn’t particularly see why that matters but Coach’s eyes cut to her and then he quickly closes the door. 

Jack decides he likes whatever weird southern “don’t let the neighbors see” manners are at work here if only because it means this will go peacefully.

“Is-” for the first time, Bitty sounds less than one hundred percent certain. “Is Mama home?”

“No,” Coach clips out. Jack can’t tell what he’s thinking. “No, she’s out at the market.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Well… well, we’ll try to be done before she gets back.”

Jack knows that’s a lie. He watches Bitty fumble for a minute, looking around the entryway to his house as if he’s not sure what to do.

“Let’s start in your room,” Jack suggests and Bitty shoots him a grateful look.

“Lead the way, Bits!” Shitty calls, voice too loud for the tense mood but Bitty nods decisively and heads up the stairs. Jack hangs back because that’s what the captain does. Goes out last. Keeps an eye on Mr. Bittle, who thankfully still appears too shocked to do anything to stop them. 

Still, when he finally climbs the stairs, he finds that the others have stopped and Bitty has waited for him to open the door to his bedroom.

It’s not as dusty as Jack thought it would be. Someone must have cleaned it but it’s… it hasn’t been changed. The bedspread is a dark navy and the curtains are white. There is a bookshelf scattered with what look to be cookbooks and figure skating trophies and a few pictures and it is all still neatly arranged.

“You can come in,” Bitty says, not turning back to them. This time Jack goes first. Bitty is standing very still in the center.

“What would you like to take, Bits?” he asks.

“Um,” Bitty lets out a laugh that is a bit breathless with disbelief. “I guess- I guess all of it?”

“HERE WE GO, BOYS!” Shitty yells and Jack certainly hopes that Bitty was done with his moment because Holster and Ransom move with the same ruthless efficiency they do on the ice and, again just like the ice, Shitty proves himself to be so hyper as to be almost useless - ( _OH MY GOD, I FOUND BABY BITTY! LOOK AT THAT SMILE-- wait, wait, Jack have you SEEN this outfit?? Brah, tell me you still have that in your closet. TELL ME I CAN TRY IT ON!)_

But the three of them have Bitty laughing and that has to count for something.

*^*^*^

Jack doesn’t know why he decides to come back out to the main floor after the others start packing stuff into boxes. Maybe it’s because there’s simply not enough room in Bitty’s bedroom for all five of them, maybe it’s because he had seen Bitty’s eyes flick to the kitchen for a heartbeat before changing course, maybe it’s to keep an eye on Coach. 

“I’m gonna check the kitchen,” he tells the man whose eyes don’t move from where they are pointed up the stairs. It’s a stupid suggestion because he has no idea which kitchen supplies would be Bitty’s rather than his mother’s but he goes anyway, grabbing a box from where Shitty has set up a pile outside the door.

The kitchen is all woods and warm browns and for a moment, Jack can picture Bitty here. Growing up here, learning to bake using the little wooden stool that still sits on the other side of the fridge. 

The fridge is covered in magnets, magnets and there’s a few drawings and school pictures of Bitty throughout the years and Jack thinks that maybe he is being cruel, but he grabs all of them and dumps them into his box. As well as a few of the magnets.

They don’t deserve them. 

He finds the cabinet which holds the baking supplies open and he is contemplating just taking… everything when a door to the side opens.

“Richard?” a voice calls. “Richard, did you see the car outside? I don’t recognize it, do you have guests ov--”

She must have come in from the garage because Jack has no time to prepare himself or move or anything. Suddenly, she is just standing in front of him, a brown paper bag clutched against her chest and he watches her jump and then recognize him and her face goes pale.

“You-- what’s happened?” she says. “What’s wrong- why are-?”

“Nothing.” Jack says. “Nothing, we’re just--”

“Well, I’ve been kicked out of my own room,” Bitty’s voice filters down the stairs. Mrs. Bittle whirls towards it. “So I figured I’d--”

Bitty strolls into the kitchen and sees her and Jack doesn’t have words for the emotions that cross over his face. There’s longing and hope and _sadness_ and in front of his father, he had been stoic but now his hands come up to his heart and--

“Mama?” he says, voice too high.

“Dicky,” she breathes and her eyes are roaming over his face as if to memorize it. “You- you’re here.”

“H-Hi, Mama,” he offers, one hand up in a wave. “I- Coach said you were out shopping.”

“Are you- are you coming back?” she asks and the hope in her voice is almost unbearable. She takes a step closer and Bitty just blinks at her and--

“No, Mama,” he says and Jack sees that it costs him. Costs him to say it and costs more when she stops moving towards him. “No, we are just picking up my things.”

“Your things?” she asks. “What are you-?”

“My stuff,” Bitty says and his voice goes a bit hard again. Firm. “My old photo albums and my skating trophies and my yearbooks and-- my things, Mama.”

“No,” she breathes. Then louder, “No, you- you can’t. Those are my-- Richard! Richard, tell him!”

Jack hadn’t even noticed Coach coming into the room, too intent on watching Bitty and his mother but he turns his head to see that Coach is there. It’s a relief when Mrs. Bittle walks over to him, easier to keep them both in his line of sight. 

“Tell him he can’t take them,” Mrs. Bittle says. “They are- those are my things, he can’t just--”

She is on the verge of tears again. 

“They aren’t yours,” Bitty says. “They are _mine_. And you- you are the ones who don’t want to accept me so I am taking them.”

He turns to Jack. “The ones with the green handles are mine.”

Jack doesn’t really want to take his eyes off the Bittles, but he turns obediently and surveys the cup of kitchen utensils and starts grabbing the one with green handles. 

“Richard, he--”

“Let him, Suzanne,” Coach finally grunts. “He can have ‘em.” 

_Say something_ , Jack tries to try her silently. Say that you are sorry, say that Bitty is welcome to visit anytime, say that you miss him, that you want him back, that you love him.

“C’mon,” Coach says, one hand on her elbow. “Let’s just leave them to it.”

Jack thinks there’s a moment, maybe, where she almost does it. She resists being led forward and her eyes are on Bitty’s again and she goes so far as to take a breath and open her mouth and--

In the end, she follows.

“That pot is mine too,” Bitty tells Jack, voice tight and low.

*^*^*^

At least, it’s quick. That’s really all Jack can say for it. Bitty points out things he would like to take with ruthless efficiency and Jack packs them the same way. The boys come barrelling down the steps loaded up with boxes and he and Bitty aren’t there to watch it, but they hear Mrs. Bittle’s horrified questions and stammering.

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty are smart enough to stop fooling around once they see Bitty’s mom is home. The move the boxes from Bitty’s room to the bottom of the stairs quietly and Bitty’s parents stay off to the side, simply watching. Mrs. Bittle seems to want to cry sometimes and opens her mouth to protest when Holster takes the picture of Bitty hanging on the wall next to the stairs but--

“It’s for the best,” Coach tells her and Jack wonders if they’ve had this argument before. If Coach has long thought that they should take all the pictures of Bitty down and if Mrs. Bittle is the one who insisted on keeping them up “just in case.” 

Regardless, the pictures get packed away. And judging from the sheer amount of boxes that the three bring down from Bitty’s room, Jack assumes they have gone through the rest of the upstairs too. It takes the three of them almost four trips. At one point, Jack steps forward to go help them because he and Bitty are just standing and sort of staring at Bitty’s parents, but Bitty’s hand reaches out and curls around his wrist for half of a second and Jack stays where he is.

Finally, most of the boxes are in the car and Holster and Ranson leave silently, both carrying a few smaller ones and they sort of nod to the Bittles. Neither of the Bittles react. Shitty is out next and Jack isn’t really paying attention, too busy watching Bitty and making sure he is okay. He hears it when Shitty puts his box down but there’s no time to stop it. Shitty is holding out his hand, shaking first Mrs. Bittle’s hand and then Coach’s and--

“Your son is one of the finest individuals I have ever met in my life,” Shitty tells them, seriously. “And, honestly, I pity you for the influence your bigoted views have on what should be the most important relationship of your life. You are pathetic and I really do feel bad for you.”

For a moment, Jack actually thinks they are going to get out of this relatively unscathed, but then,

“And, let me tell you, if I wasn’t so trapped by my own gender preferences, I would _gladly_ take your son to bed in the manliest of fashions.”

“Shitty!” Jack groans and reaches for him. It’s still too late.

“It would be an _honor_ to suck his dick, sir,” Shitty seems to be directing this comment to Mr. Bittle who seems to be frozen. “That is the kind of man Eric Bittle is. If he would have me, I would happily just get on my knees and--”

“Shitty, oh my _god_ ,” Bitty says, turning a bright, brilliant shade of red. “Get _out_!”

Shitty grins and winks and Jack just grabs him and shoves him towards the door because he knows Shitty and he knows that Shitty will just keep talking because he’s _Shitty_. Luckily, Shitty lets himself be pushed and luckily the Bittles seem too utterly horrified to react. They just sort of stare and then look back to Bitty who looks…

Bitty looks delighted. He watches Shitty leave with a smile on his face and--

“I-” Bitty starts, turning back to his parents. “I… I really am happy. I don’t, god, I don’t even know if that’s what you want-” A little breathless giggle- “But I am.”

His parents don’t say anything, but Bitty nods, seemingly done with them. 

“I’ll grab the last box in the kitchen,” Jack murmurs. He can’t say why but he wants Bitty out of the house before him. It’s an itch of anxiety that he figures will be easier to just give in to.

“Okay,” Bitty says and then with a last look at his mother, leaves.

“ _Shitty,_ ” Jack hears as the front door swings open and shut. _“I am going to--”_

“I’m going to take care of him,” Jack tells them, even though he knows Bitty doesn’t need it. That Bitty could take care of himself. Also, it is a completely ridiculous statement. He doesn’t really why he says it except he does. So… there it is. He’s going to take care of Bitty.

Just like he takes care of all the ice crew. Obviously. 

Coach turns and walks away, back towards his study, and Jack wishes he could say he was surprised but he’s not. Mrs. Bittle look after him and he thinks that maybe she has started to cry but Jack turns and grabs the box sitting on the counter.

“Wait,” Mrs. Bittle says as he exits. “Please, wait. One second.”

Jack pauses because she’s desperate. He pauses and she jumps to grab the stool and stands on it, reaching for something from a top cabinet and instinctively, Jack reaches out to steady her when she wobbles. She flinches. He tells himself it’s because she doesn’t know him and he towers over her. 

“Here,” she says, holding out the box. “Take this too. It’s Dicky’s.”

The box is old, a white that has long since gotten stained and Jack hesitates because Bitty had said that he didn’t need most of the things here and her hand is shaking but--

“Please,” she says. “Please, take it. It’s- he deserves to have it.”

“Okay,” Jack says because her voice rises on the last sentence, like Bitty’s does when he’s about to start crying and he thinks he hates her and everything she’s done to Bitty but somehow he doesn’t want to make what must be an awful day for her somehow worse. “Okay, I’ll give it to him.”

“Good,” she says, nodding a beat too quickly. “Okay, thank you.”

She turns and starts pulling flour down from the shelf and Jack can’t think of anything to do or say but leave.

*^*^*^

Jack certainly hopes that Bitty didn’t have any plans to go through his things privately because when they finally pull up to the Haus on Sunday afternoon (they’d stopped and slept in a motel Saturday night and Jack doesn’t know why everyone thought it would be “fun” to all cram in one room and is even less certain why that turned out to be correct), Lardo, Dex, Chowder, and Nursey are all waiting for them.

And if Jack thought that the boys made packing all Bitty’s things into an event, that is nothing compared to what unpacking is. Everyone grabs a box and Jack tries to tell them that he had cleared a corner in his room to stack them but they don’t make it past the living room and get opened before Bitty can protest and--

“I FOUND THE YEARBOOKS,” Shitty calls. “WHO WANTS TO SEE BITTY THROUGH THE AGES?”

“I DO! I DO!” Chowder yells, matching Shitty for volume and Nursey is more chill with his answer but cranes his neck to see better and--

“Bitty, why did you ever stop doing art?” Lardo says, grinning and holding up what look to be kindergarten drawings. One might be of a dog. Or a bear. Maybe a squirrel? “You were so naturally gifted.”

“Oh hush,” Bitty says, crawling over a pile to sit down next to her. “I’d like to see your drawings at - oh my _god_ , I had forgotten about this one!”

“There’s rainbows on every one,” Jack comments. “I guess they should have known, eh?”

“Mr. Zimmermann, I’ll have you know that _all_ kids draw rainbows on things,” Bitty says. “But also, they should have - I cried so hard when John Smith had to leave in Pocahontas that my mother thought someone had hurt me.”

“THAT REMINDS US!” Holster says and then he’s leaning forward and diving into another box. “WE FOUND BITTY’S PORN STASH!!”

“What _is it_ with you guy’s and finding porn stashes?”

“You did _not_. Guys, what-?”

“Right under the bed. I mean, seriously, Bitty, you couldn’t have come up with a better hiding spot? Rookie mistake. Now, let’s see what we have--”

“Do not open those!” Bitty tries. “I mean, it’s not porn! I would never--”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Holster says. “Is this the ESPN _body issue_??”

“Bro, they ALL ARE!!!” Ransom says. 

“It is not my porn stash!” Bitty says. He’s red now. Red and laughing and when he tries to grab them from Holster and Holster throws one to Jack, Jack lifts it above his head. “I was just-- I was an athlete!”

“I GOT A DOG EAR!” Holster says. “Joffrey Lupul, Bitty? _Really_?”

“Oh my god,” Bitty says. “Oh my _god_.”

“Hockey player with dark hair, blue eyes… ooooh, is this your _type,_ Bittle-boo?” Jack has no idea why he is the one who bursts into a blush. Thank god no one is looking at him. 

“Y’all, I am gonna--”

“Bitty, a question about this outfit,” Dex says, holding up a picture of Bitty figure skating. “It seems to me that the tightness of this would--

“Stop,” Bitty says. “Stop that question right now. No pies. I swear. No pies for any of you!”

“I’VE GOT A MIDDLE SCHOOL POEM!” Shitty yells. “IT LOOKS EMO!”

“I’m sure it’s great!” Chowder says.

“Here, Nursey, you read it,” Holster says, passing it. “You’re an english major, right? Tell us it’s literary merit!”

“I hate you guys,” Bitty says, sighing and flopping down on the couch. “I really do.”

""Don't bother with those boxes," Ransom says as Jack goes to grab one from the corner that hasn't been opened. "There's nothing in there."

""What?" Jack says, blinking.

""Nothing important," Shitty clarifies. "We just stole all the toilet paper from the bathrooms."

""I grabbed most of their hand towels too," Holster admits. "And soap."

""Boys!" Bitty says. "You did _not_."

"We have batteries for days!" Ransom says. 

“Okay, but seriously," Dex interrupts. "About these outfits…”

*^*^*^

For the box of kitchen supplies, the boys leave Bitty alone. Maybe because kitchen supplies aren’t as exciting, probably because they somehow _know_. Or at least Shitty did and he warns the others. Bitty goes slower here, maybe because he didn’t get to see what Jack packed before he arrived, probably because these are Bitty’s favorite things. He’s quiet and reverent as he puts things in their proper spot and Jack spends the whole time watching telling himself he is going to leave but never does.

He doesn’t want Bitty to be alone. Not when he is going to have to leave tomorrow and be gone for four days. 

“There’s one more,” Jack tells him when he finishes. And then he goes and gets the package that Mrs. Bittle had given him. Bitty frowns at the box, clearly not knowing what it is but Jack can only shrug when Bitty looks up at him, eyebrows pulled into a question.

“Your mom told me it was yours,” Jack says. Bitty’s frown of confusion deepens but he reaches out to pick at the tape holding it closed anyway.

Jack keeps his eyes on Bitty’s face as the box opens. So he sees when Bitty realizes what it must be. His eyes go wide and his face flushes and his hands shake as he pulls the lid off. 

To Jack, it’s just a pie dish. It looks dainty and old - white with an blue pattern and a gold trim around its ruffled edges. To Bitty, it must be something else. Because he is staring and not breathing.

“She- she gave you this?” he asks. “To give to me?” Jack nods silently and Bitty flinches. 

“Is it- are you okay?” Jack asks. He doesn’t know the etiquette behind pie dishes. He doesn’t know what this means. 

“It’s… it was her grandmother’s,” Bitty answers, one hand reaching out to gently trace the ridges of the brim. “It’s always a wedding present. That’s when it gets passed down.”

“Oh,” Jack says stupidly. 

“I… I figured I was never going to get it,” Bitty says. “I mean, it’s a family heirloom and I’m- they-”

Bitty stares at it for a second longer.

“I don’t get it,” he says. His voice sounds wobbly. “I don’t get why she can give me this but she can’t just--”

He snatches his hand away but keeps staring. Jack isn’t sure what to do. Whether he should cover it up and put it somewhere or take it out back and throw away and now Bitty’s eyes may be filling with tears and it’s Jack’s fault and--

“This is always how it’s going to be, isn’t it?” Bitty says softly. “She can-- she’s always going to love me but just… not quite enough. Not the way I want.”

He looks at it a second longer and bites his lip and his hand curls into a shaking fist and Jack has to say something, to _do_ something to make it better but--

“I- I am not ready to have that in my kitchen,” Bitty says. “Would you please put it somewhere for me?” 

Jack nods and Bitty turns and Jack whisks it away.

He wishes he had something to say.

*^*^*^

He goes on the road and worries. He worries that Bitty regrets getting his things, that he shouldn’t have listened to Mrs. Bittle when she told him to take the box, that the fact Bitty seemed to go back to normal in a few hours was all an act and he should be home and he’s missing it and Bitty needs him and by the time they win the game against the Penguins and get home, Jack is a nervous mess. 

Which seems a bit silly because he arrives home to a tipsy, perfectly happy Bitty and a quite drunk everyone else and it turns out they have turned putting the rest of Bitty’s things away into a drinking game.

In the end, three of Bitty’s drawings get put on their fridge, two of his portraits get hung on the wall, and all of his figure skating trophies get put on the shelf in Jack’s room where he keeps his collection of pucks.

One of his baby photos gets put in Shitty’s room (Shitty now unabashedly has baby photos of _all_ of them) and Ransom and Holster take a pile of loose assignments and assemble them into a scrap book. For Halloween, Dex, Nursey, and Chowder all wear Bitty’s old skating outfits. Shitty is furious that he couldn’t find one to fit into. 

The white and blue pie dish stays under his bed, though Jack did end up buying a nicer box for it. So it doesn’t get broken if someone accidentally kicks it. Just in case Bitty ever wants it. 

End Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging with me through this! I promise this really is the best version.


	4. The Falconers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to editing, this is essentially the second half of Part 3 with a better ending.
> 
> **The bulk of new material is in Part 3, now entitled "The Bittles" Please READ THE NEW PART THREE FIRST**
> 
> if you want to read only the new stuff, skip to the end.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry about the confusion!

**The Falconers**

This year, Jack doesn’t hesitate about Christmas. He’d stayed with the ice crew for Thanksgiving (Tater had come too, bearing vodka, and drank everyone under the table. Literally. Ransom and Holster curled up under the kitchen table rather than risk taking the stairs.) He invites both Shitty and Bitty to his house for the holidays. Bitty is nervous at first, going on about how holidays are for family but Jack just insists they are both welcome and--

Once Bitty agrees, Shitty bows out. “My mom doesn’t really care about the holidays,” he explains over dinner. “Except that it gives her more time to research so she doesn’t mind if I wait til January to swing up and see her - my dad used to insist on the holidays anyway once they got divorced - but maybe it’ll be nice to see her on the actual day this year. Maybe I’ll even convince her we should exchange presents even if it is a capitalist ploy to ensure submission to the regime.”

He sounds doubtful about the last part but doesn’t seem to mind either way. When he leaves, Bitty follows him and Jack hears snippets of the conversation (“ _You could have gone the past two years, Shitty, I didn’t even realize it was something you’d_ like _to do and--” “Bits, bro, relax. I promise I have not been harboring any secret resentment, though you do have to promise to still make me that peppermint oreo pie when we get back okay?”)_

So Jack buys the tickets for him and Bitty to head up to Canada. They fly first class and Bitty gawks at everything and Jack smiles at him and then chirps him to try to cover it up. 

He does that a lot these days. 

*^*^*^

Jack doesn’t really worry about how Bitty is going to fit in with his parents. He already knows his parents love Bitty and he knows that Bitty is already planning multiple ways to be the perfect houseguest (most of them seem to involve baked goods) so he figures it will be a matter of chirping Bitty until he relaxes and perhaps limiting the amount of butter in the house so he does something other than bake.. 

It goes even better than he could have anticipated. 

It takes Bitty all of about an hour under Bad Bob’s chirping to relax and he and Jack’s mother almost instantly start chatting about pop culture things that go right over Jack’s head. Bitty had been confused when Jack told him to bring both his pairs of skates along but on the first day, they both spend hours on the ice rink they have out back. Jack’s father joins them later and it might be one of Jack’s new favorite memories - the sight of his father trying to land jumps and spins and declaring that he is going to go buy “proper skates” in the morning.

Bitty is suitably impressed by Timbits donuts; Jack’s parents are been suitably impressed by Bitty’s pancakes and pies and cinnamon rolls and… everything.

On the third day, when they both feel a bit antsy, they risk going out in the city. Jack gets recognized (because it’s Canada and he’s Jack Zimmerman) but just like in Providence, people are polite and Bitty doesn’t seem put out when he has to stop and sign autographs. He just gives Jack a little wave and points into whatever store he is going to go explore. Then he disappears for a bit and circles back when he’s done and Jack calmly extracts himself from whoever he is talking to and Bitty smiles up at him and--

It’s so easy with Bitty. It’s so easy that it’s getting difficult. To drag his eyes away from him, to not smile stupidly at everything he says, to push down the unfamiliar spark low in his stomach that _wants_.

Nothing about this trip makes it easier.

They end up a little tipsy a few nights because his parents have nice wine and believe in drinking it and Jack finds himself unable to look away at the flush that spreads from Bitty’s cheeks down to his collarbone when he is on his third glass of cabernet. He runs into Bitty on the way to the bathroom in the morning and Bitty is only wearing a _towel_ and it is ridiculous because Jack is an adult who is used to being _surrounded_ by naked men and who has long since been able to turn that part of his brain off but… He goes completely tongue-tied and--

“You switched to French in your head, didn’t you?” Bitty teases him, stepping out of the way as if unaware how water is dripping from his hair to his shoulder and beading on his eyelashes. “I swear, y’all give me such a hard time with _my_ accent but yours really is downright strange, Jack. So--”

“Um, yeah,” Jack manages. “It's the better language.”

“Oh dear _lord_ ,” Bitty says. “It’s too early for this. Do you want pancakes or waffles this morning?”

Jack literally cannot think of an answer. He just sort of stares (there is a droplet that is now trailing down Bitty’s _chest_ and good lord, what is happening to him?) and maybe his shoulders go up into a shrug and Bitty just laughs at him.

“You know what? I’m making _french_ toast,” he says, resuming walking. Jack forces himself not to turn around and watch as Bitty leaves. 

(By the time Jack is done in the shower, the french toast is finished.)

Christmas is just as wonderful. At first, Jack is worried because Bitty keeps his phone on him but it turns out that’s because everyone calls throughout the day - _everyone_. Actually, Shitty calls four times. It seems that whenever Bitty goes quiet, there is another member of the ice crew calling and then Jack checks his phone and realizes that Tater has called him so they call him back and it’s all perfect.

It’s the perfect trip.

The problem now is that it’s December 27th and they are both leaving the next morning and the whole trip has been so much _better_ than Jack could have ever imagined that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.

It just… he doesn’t think it’s going to go away. Even back at the Haus surrounded usually by eight other people, he and Bitty just… they work. Sure, this trip has made it even more obvious but before that it was playing on the same line as him and then being able to always catch his eye in conversation and then it was Annie’s and texting and--

“So?” Jack jumps. He hadn’t heard his dad come downstairs. He’d come in to get some water even though he’s spent the last four minutes just standing there and staring as Bitty continues to try and land a double-triple-lutz… thing. (Jack has no idea what it is, but it’s been stumping Bitty for almost twenty minutes now and Jack should really be concerned with how cute he finds Bitty’s little frown of frustration). 

“Hey,” Jack says, jerking and pretending he wasn’t just _gazing_ outside. His dad is staring at him like he’s missed a question. “Sorry, what?”

“You fly back tomorrow,” his dad says, nudging his hip into Jack’s to fill his own glass with water. “It seems like now is the time.”

“Time to do what?” Jack asks.

“Oh, come on,” his dad says. “Your mother and I think he’s lovely.”

“I…” Jack is suddenly at a complete loss for what to say. Last year Christmas was all polite jokes and hearing about his mother’s friends and he’d shared a few stories of the ice crew but the friendship was still new and tentative somehow and now--

Now he thinks his father is telling him that his parents would _approve_ if he were to start a relationship. With Bitty. As a professional hockey player. 

“He doesn’t even know I like men, Papa.”

“So?” His dad is smiling at him, the big ole smile that he used to give reporters, the one that everyone in the hockey world is disappointed to find Jack Zimmermann can’t recreate. “Would be a hell of a way to tell him.”

“To just go over there and ask him out?” Jack says, looking back at his father. He hadn’t even realized his eyes had drifted towards Bitty again. 

“You could do that,” His dad says slowly. “Or…?”

“Or what?”

“Or you go could a bit bigger,” His dad says and Jack has no idea what that means and his face must scrunch in confusion because his dad sighs and-- “Just go kiss him, Jack.”

Jack opens his mouth to protest because _that_ is a ridiculous idea but his father slaps him on the shoulder and moves away before Jack can get the words out.

It’s a bad idea. Jack knows that. He tells himself that repeatedly as he finishes his glass of water and heads back outside. He puts back on his skates and makes his way back onto the ice and over and over reminds himself that that is a _stupid_ idea. 

If he wants to do something, he should _ask_ Bitty. Or at least come out and see how Bitty reacts. That’s what he should do.

Of course, as he glides forward, he realizes that sometime in the last two minutes, he has decided to just go for it. Because suddenly it seems to him that there is no good way to build up to this. Like now that the idea is in his brain, there’s no way he’ll be able to have a conversation. So he skates back onto the ice and Bitty tries this jump a few more times, almost landing it once, before skating towards him.

“I’m so close,” Bitty says. He is flushed and happy and Jack can’t stop staring at the little piece of blond hair that is sticking out the front of his winter hat. “A few more tries and--”

Jack kisses him. He puts his hands on Bitty’s elbows to stabilize both of them and bends down and just… _does_ it. Same as taking a shot on the ice.

He means to just let it last for a heartbeat but it hits him that he is _kissing Bitty_ and without meaning to he presses a little more firmly, drags one hand up to Bitty’s jaw in an attempt to keep him there and sucks in Bitty’s top lip just a little before pulling away.

He has to force himself to do it, to stop and step back and his mouth is somewhere between a nervous frown and an amazed smile because he had just kissed Bitty. He opens his eyes to see Bitty slowly open his own eyes (and that must be a good sign, right? The fact that Bitty had closed his eyes?) but Bitty isn’t smiling, isn’t really reacting at all and--

It hits him then. That he had just _followed his father’s advice_. Which means he essentially just skated up to Bitty and _kissed_ him. With no warning. 

“Oh my god,” he says, trying to skate away and for the first time in years forgets how to skate backwards. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just-- That was--”

“What just happened?” Bitty asks and that might be the least romantic thing to happen after a kiss _ever_ but well, it would be worse to not even explain? Wouldn’t it?

“I kissed you,” Jack says, still frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry. My dad said it was a good idea.”

“Your _dad_?” Bitty says. “Why is your dad telling you to kiss me?”

“Because I like you!” Jack blurts. “I like you and he knows it and so he told me that this was a good idea. That this is how I should… tell you? Ask you?”

Bitty goes very still. Jack thinks he might be about to have a full-fledged panic attack. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have just told you. I should have told you ages ago. But without the kissing. I don’t--”

“Jack,” Bitty says, putting a hand on his arm. That’s good. People don’t touch people they hate. Maybe Bitty still doesn’t hate him. “Honey, calm down. This is just… This is a lot.”

“I know,” Jack says, quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” Bitty says and he’s smiling now. Smiling and maybe turning a bit red. “I just-- Jack, I didn’t even know you were gay.”

“Um, I am,” Jack says. “I… I don’t know why I haven’t told you. I just… I’m just used to not telling people and then by the time I wanted to tell you it was because I _liked_ you and I didn’t want you to… feel pressured.”

“So you thought just kissing me would give it less pressure?”

Jack is an idiot. Also his father. He still wants to blame his father for this one. He should have talked to his mom. She never would have done this to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says and then takes a deep breath. He needs to calm down. Bitty should not have to take care of him right now. That is not how this works. “I like you, Bitty. But I understand if you don’t like me and we can remain friends. There is no pressure. We can pretend this never happened.”

“Oh, hell no,” Bitty says, quickly. “Oh, no, sweetie, we are talking about this _forever_.”

Jack closes his eyes because okay, yes, yes he does deserve to be made fun of for this (because honestly, who just kisses someone with no warning like that?) but also… he meant it and he doesn’t think that he can stand to be made fun of for the only kiss with Bitty he’ll ever get.

“Oh my gosh,” Bitty says and he’s about to start laughing. Jack can hear it in his voice. He needs to get a hold of himself. He needs to-- “Come _here_.”

And then he is being dragged down and Bitty is kissing _him_. 

Bitty’s hands are looped up around his shoulders and then it makes sense to just wrap his arms around Bitty’s lower back and pull him closer.

*^*^*^

“You- you really like me, eh?” Jack says later. It’s supposed to be a chirp but to Jack’s ears it comes out a little too desperate to quite hit the mark. 

“ _Lord_ , Jack,” Bitty says with a laugh. He tucks his head into the crook of Jack’s neck, pressing a kiss there once he stops giggling. They are sitting on his couch, Bitty is straddling him, hands crossed behind his head as he plays with Jack’s hair. They aren’t doing anything but kissing each other almost lazily but it feels like more in this position. Probably because Jack is all too aware all Bitty has to do is tilt his hips forward just a little and-- “You are ridiculous.”

It’s possible Bitty is telling the truth. Jack has his hands on Bitty’s hips and Bitty doesn’t complain when Jack slips his fingertips under Bitty’s shirt. 

“You haven’t actually said it,” Jack pouts. It’s true. He and Bitty had kissed for a ridiculously long time outside and then Bitty had protested he was cold and they went back inside to find that Jack’s parents had conveniently gone to bed early.

“Goodness,” Bitty laughs. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, I have liked you for _ages_. Since… since… I don’t even know.”

“Me too,” Jack admits. “Ages and ages.”

“Well, what’s your excuse then?” Bitty demands but he’s giggling. “For not saying anything?”

“I- what’s yours?”

“I thought you were straight!”

“Shitty would say you should never assume anything about someone’s sexuality just because of the way they chose to present--”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, so help me, if you try to _Shitty_ your way out of this, I will never bake you a pie again. I just want to know why we could have been doing this for _months_.”

Jack laughs, squeezes his hands to draw Bitty’s hips closer. Bitty’s breath hitches, just a little bit.

“I just--” And Jack stops. Struggles. Because the truth is… this thing with Bitty… god, it’s been a grand total of maybe forty-five minutes and he is already _serious_ about it. And he thinks he had to wait until this point. Until it was no longer something he could consider living without. Like hockey. “I don’t--”

“Hush,” Bitty orders and then he’s pulling on Jack’s hair just enough to get him to tilt his head up. And kissing him again. “I’m just playing with you.”

Jack smiles and lifts one hand to Bitty’s head to press him closer and tilts his hips _up_ and--

“Let’s go to your room,” Bitty gasps. “You can make it up to me.”

Jack smirks and does.

*^*^*^

There’s no hiding it from their roommates. Maybe they had vague plans to keep it between themselves until they could tell everyone in a calm, clear manner but they arrive back at the Haus, walk in and Lardo takes one look at them and--

“You guys had sex.”

Bitty turns bright red. “What? No? Sex?”

Of course, it turns out that Shitty was already coming over for his reunion hug and Ransom and Holster were both in the kitchen, struggling to find something to eat, so everyone was in earshot and--

“SEX!” Shitty yells. “YOU FINALLY HAD SEX!”

“Thank _god_ ,” Holster says. “The sexual tension was getting unreal.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID IT WHERE WE COULDN’T HEAR YOUR FIRST TIME!” Shitty says.

“Bro,” Lardo says. “Too much. Too far.”

“I’M JUST SAYING WHAT WE ARE ALL THINKING!”

“No on else is thinking that, Shit. Literally no one.”

“But this is _sawesome!_ ” Ransom says. “Congratulations!”

“HAVE YOU GONE ON A FIRST DATE YET? CAN WE AT LEAST ALL GO TO THAT?”

“Shitty, I think if you all came then it wouldn’t exactly be a--”

“Oh, hush,” Bitty says, putting a hand on Jack’s arm and stopping him. “We can take all of them.”

So they put their bags down and head out. Shitty rides with them in Jack’s car “so I don’t miss anything, man. I’ve already missed so much” and Jack ends up paying for everyone because “It’s our first date, Bits, I have to pay” and for once the rest of the guys don’t give him crap about it so he’s happy and everyone who’s not driving gets a little day drunk.

Shitty, Ransom and Holster all ride with them on the way back (since Lardo “doesn’t want these idiots vomming in my car.”) and they sing “Can you feel the love tonight” on the drive back three times (Jack think they all sing the first part with a bit too much passion, he and Bity aren’t _going_ anywhere.) They get back to the Haus to find that the younger guys have been called and the party continues, complete with more Disney songs and inappropriate questions and _toasts_ (Shitty makes three; Chowder get very drunk after three beers and stands only to burst into happy tears.) 

Jack and Bitty don’t actually get any alone time together the rest of the night.

It’s still a perfect first date. 

*^*^*^

Of course, there is the question. The don’t talk about it before Jack goes away for a game on the 29th but he’s back the next day and has three days off and already it had been a struggle not to tell his team so...

“What do you want to do?” Jack asks. They are curled in his bed again.

“Mmmm. Sleep,” Bitty says. “Then go again.”

Jack laughs, kisses Bitty on the shoulder because he can, and then refocuses.

“I mean about… telling people,” he says. “Coming out.”

He feels Bitty tense in his arms. It makes his heart start hammering but he waits as Bitty twists to look at him.

“We can…” Bitty starts. “It’s your career, Jack. You would be the first openly gay player in the NHL. It would-- we could hide it easily.”

Jack frowns. But Bitty continues.

“We already live together so no one will suspect and it… we could just act like we have been. In public.”

“Is that what you want?” Jack asks. “To hide?”

“It’s… what do _you_ want?”

“I want whatever you want,” Jack says and then continues because he can see that particular point just being repeated back and forth for a long time. “I- Bitty, everyone knows I’m good at hockey. I got the C after my first year, I won the Stanley Cup my second year, and we are still good and I- I don’t think it would kill my career. To be out.”

Bitty doesn’t look certain. His mouth is twisted to the side.

“Even if it did,” Jack says, shrugging one shoulder. “I would rather do that than make you uncomfortable.”

“Gracious,” Bitty breathes, putting his face into Jack’s chest for a moment. Jack lets him take a minute, content to run his hand up and down Bitty’s back until,

“I don’t really want to hide,” Bitty admits. “I don’t-- I don’t really want to be anyone’s dirty little secret.”

“Okay,” Jack says and he hadn’t realized how little he liked that option either until Bitty said it aloud. He is going to… he is going to get to _do_ this. To show Bitty off. To show the world that he is not a hockey robot and that he managed to get someone like _Eric Bittle_ to love him back. He won’t have to try to lie when someone asks him what he’s doing for Valentine’s day or stop from smiling at Bitty _whenever he wants to_ and he’s going to do it. All of it. 

“But I will, Jack,” Bitty says. “If you want. If you think that’s best. Because I don’t want to mess up your career and I know you just said it’s going well but it won’t be easy and--”

“Bitty,” Jack says. “Stop. I don’t want to hide either.”

He expects Bitty to relax. He expects them to have a good laugh about how they should come out and then go downstairs and tell everyone else the news and he assumes that it will fill the rest of the night, really. That everyone will have their own ridiculous way that they should announce it to the world and he and Bitty will laugh at all of them before deciding that Jack should just hold a press conference and keep it semi-lowkey.

Instead Bitty still looks just as worried. Eyebrows drawn together. Fingers tapping a restless rhythm against Jack’s chest. Eyes not quite meeting his.

“Bitty,” Jack says. “What’s wrong?”

“I just- I hate coming out,” Bitty admits. “The announcement and the fact that it’s a big deal and then everyone gets to _say_ something about it and--”

He closes his eyes and Jack knows he’s thinking about his parents and Jack flexes his hands, pulling him tighter. Bitty’s breath catches, once, twice, but then by the third exhale he’s back under control. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I just… I know it’s not always so… so awful, I just...”

“We won’t do it then,” Jack says. “No big announcement.”

“But we just said we weren’t going to hide it.”

“We won’t do that either,” Jack replies. “We won’t hide it and we won’t announce it. We’ll just… act normal.”

Bitty is still staring at him like he’s saying something strange.

“We’ll do whatever we want,” Jack says and he’s getting excited about it. He can feel it. It’s going to be fun. “We’ll hold hands or hug or kiss or makeout or whatever we would normally do in public--”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, we will not be _making out_ in public,” Bitty says. “We are going to be a _classy_ couple.”

“You can call me darlin’,” Jack offers, wagging his eyebrows. “Honey Bunches. Sweet Cakes. Moon Pudding.” 

“Where are you even _getting_ these?”

“Anything you want,” Jack says. “Anywhere you want. And we’ll just… let people draw their own conclusions. As if we were a regular couple.”

“You mean a straight couple.”

“I mean any couple that doesn’t have to make an _announcement_ that they’re dating,” Jack says. Because suddenly Bitty seems right. Why should he have to announce it? Why should they have to do anything they don’t want to do?

“You are going to be the first openly gay hockey player in the NHL,” Bitty says. He is starting to sound just as delighted by the idea as Jack is. “And you aren’t even going to _tell_ people?”

“I’ll tell them eventually,” Jack says. “When they ask directly.”

“What counts as asking?” Bitty says, but he doesn’t sound truly concerned. His voice is light again, light and happy and warm and Jack can’t get enough of it, can’t get over the fact that _he made Bitty sound like that_. 

“I don’t know,” Jack says honestly. He hasn’t thought this all the way through yet. “I- I won’t ever lie about you, Bittle. I promise.”

It comes out softer than he intended. Soft and serious and suddenly Bitty is looking at him the same way.

“I won’t either,” he says. “Lie. About you or to you.”

“About you or to you,” Jack repeats and then there’s nothing to do but lean down and kiss Bitty more, the thrum of a promise he can’t wait to keep drumming against his ribcage.

*^*^*^

If pressed, Jack would have said that someone would ask him directly about Bitty within two weeks. 

Tater finds out three days later on Wednesday night. He and Jack get to their room in Dallas and Tater flops on the bed while Jack starts unpacking and-

“You come out to bar tonight?” Tater asks. Their game isn’t til Friday afternoon so technically he could and he has been lately because he has _friends_ on the Falconers now and he likes hanging out with them but,

“No,” he says. “I’m gonna Skype with Bitty instead.”

“Oh, yes, good,” Tater replies, nodding. “I like Bitty. He good friend.Tell him to send us pies, yes? For after the game.”

“Okay,” Jack says, laughing. And then, well he doesn’t know if it technically counts as a lie and he might just be jumping the gun because he’s excited and wants to tell _someone_ but, “Though, he’s not my friend,” he tells Tater, feeling a swoop of excitement/fear in his stomach.

Tater is frowning at him. The way that only a very, very large Russian man can frown. 

“What you mean ‘not friend’?” he says. “Are you in fight? Why? Bitty is nice. What did you do?”

“No, nothing!” Jack says, fighting a smile. “He’s not my friend because he’s my boyfriend.”

Tater remains frowning for another moment and Jack can see him trying to translate in his head and then his face is splitting into a wide, ear-to-ear grin. He looks as delighted as Jack feels and Jack knows his smile is growing to match.

“Ooh!!” Tater says. “Oh, I see. I stay out late then, yes? I stay out very late with Snowy and the others so you can _Skype_.” He is already moving and Jack laughs and opens his mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to stay out _very_ late but--

“I’m gone, I’m gone,” Tater says, opening the door. “I tell the boys you are _busy_. Captain things. They won’t ask questions.”

“Tater,” Jack starts.

“I put sock on door, yes?” Tater says. “That way you have all the time you need. I don’t want to come back and _see_ things. I have innocent eyes, you know.”

Jack ends up throwing a pillow at the door. Tater leaves laughing and Jack rolls over and calls Bitty, excited to tell him the story.

By the end of the roadie, almost all the Falconers know. Jack doesn’t ask them to keep it hidden, but they do instinctively and he is a little grateful but having people find out has become a bit of a thrill and--

He makes it back to Providence and this is going to be _fun_. People are going to ask him so soon and he is going to get to tell them.

Because he drapes his arm over Bitty’s shoulders when they enter the rink together and Bitty starts riding in his car when they have to be at work at the same time anyway and he always has his phone plugged in and playing music, so Jack gets to jump out, walk around, and open his door for him if he’s fast enough and then carry his bag too. Jack doesn’t bother to school his eyes away from Bitty when they pass each other in the back tunnels. He hip checks into Bitty during games if he can get close enough and winks at him when he can’t. He doesn’t have to hide a single thing.

They do end up making out in a supply closet. Right after Jack gets a hat trick against the Bruins. He doesn’t even think about it. He is high on success and sees Bitty and there are _people_ around but Jack just dips his head towards Bitty and loops an arm around him and pulls him _literally_ into a closet. Where they make out. For about ten minutes. Until Bitty laughing tells him that he _stinks_ and he has to go help clean the ice and then don’t even bother to stagger their departure. Just stroll right now.

 _Somehow no one notices_.

No one notices when he and Bitty go shopping together and they hold hands. No one notices when Bitty turns up to Saturday practice wearing Jack’s flannel. No one notices when Jack _blows him a kiss_ as they pass eachother on the ice. 

The most anyone writes is another fluff piece on “Jack Zimmermann’s Continuing Friendship with the Falconer’s Ice Crew” and in two pap shots, Bitty gets referred to as “Zimmermann’s close friend and one of his five roommates” and Jack doesn’t realize it’s driving him crazy until Shitty comes downstairs one morning, with an article claiming that “Zimmermann seems so happy we suspect secret girlfriend!!!” and--

“What the _hell_?” Jack growls. “I could not be more obvious about this!”

“Heteronormativity, brah,” Shitty says, shaking his head. “People will bend over backwards to assume you are straight.”

Bitty seems to find it hilarious, especially when the article goes on to note that “one of Zimmermann’s roommates is Larissa Duan and with a full foot height difference, wouldn’t _that_ be an adorable couple!” Bitty laughs and Jack fumes and going on tumblr makes him feel a little better because at least _they_ seem to have the right of it but still. It’s been almost a month.

Enough is enough.

He is going to end this once and for all.

*^*^*^

Of course, right as his declaration is made they head out for a string of away games and never before has hockey seemed so tedious. He makes a point to text whenever cameras are pointed at him, ready to tell anyone who asks “Texting the girlfriend, Zimm?” that no, he is texting his _boyfriend_ but no one asks.

They just write more stupid pieces on his girlfriend and how isn’t it so cute he is playing it close to the chest?? and by the time Jack gets home, he doesn’t wait until he and Bitty are alone. Just grabs his boyfriend in the kitchen and kisses him senseless and--

“Dear god, bro, _we_ get it,” Holster says. “We know you’re dating. You don’t have to prove it to us!”

Jack takes Bitty upstairs and proves it to him. Just in case there was any confusion.

The next game Jack is _all over_ Bitty. During warmups he skates up to Bitty and chats until Tater literally drags him away. During the game, he stands and playfully messes up Bitty’s pile of ice until Bitty shoves him away. He goes laughing and smiling and winks when Bitty looks up for good measure. 

He thinks he’s done it. A reporter grabs him between the second and third period and-- “It looks like you’re having a great time with the ice crew out there, Zimms!” she says and yes, this is it. 

“Yes,” he says, willing her to go on. You two seem awfully close, Mr. Zimmerman. Would you like to address the internet rumors, Mr. Zimmerman? Mr. Zimmermann, why did you just wink at that ridiculously cute boy? “A great time.”

She laughs and pats him on the shoulder and - “Well, how do you see the third period shaping up? Any changes to the lines?”

Jack literally lets his head drop to his chest in disappointment and he hears Ransom and Holster start cackling in the background. His whole team laughs at him when he finally gets to the locker room. Including the coaches.

*^*^*^

The next home game, Jack waits for his moment. The Falconers are down in the first two periods and that drags his thoughts away from Bitty but then Tater hits one at the beginning of the third and Jack follows up soon after with another and now they are winning. Then he slides in _another_ and they are up by _two_ with only seven minutes left.

The gang takes the ice and Jack doesn’t even pretend to pay any kind of attention to their strategy talk and finally Coach Murray just sighs and says “Just go do it, Zimmermann.” Jack grins and nods his thanks and skates over and--

“Great goals!” Bitty says, smiling up at him for a brief second before turning to the ice. He’s almost done. There’s only a few more seconds of the commercial break left. Shitty and the others are skating back towards them. “I’ll see you after!”

“Yes,” Jack says. And it’s ridiculous that _now_ he is feeling a bit nervous. “I- good job on the ice too, Bits.”

Bitty looks up at him, laughter in his eyes and Jack is going to get chirped for that later, he just knows it.

“You are ridiculous,” Bitty says, shaking his head and that’s familiar, that’s what Bitty says when he thinks Jack is being cute and Jack _always_ thinks Bitty is being cute so-

He puts a hand on Bitty’s arm and draws him in and Bitty was serious when he said he does not like PDA so Jack carefully leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It’s quick and he skates away after, smiling, to join Tater and the others. 

Bitty stands there for a moment, staring at him, before Chowder pulls him away and Jack doesn’t know if the all the fans picked up on it but the commentators’ voices are booming around the stadium ( _“Did you see--” “Mark, I think that Jack Zimmermann just--” “Well, no, that couldn’t- okay the game is starting, again. Anyway, refocusing--”_ )

There. That did it.

*^*^*^

After the game, Jack can almost sense the reporters struggling with how to phrase their question. He gets a few questions about the game and it seems like no one really pays attention to his answers and he’s keeping a straight face because he’s had years of experience and he likes seeing them squirm (just a bit of payback for assuming he was dating _Lardo_ of all people). 

Finally, “So, uh, I think I’m not the only one who noticed your… interaction with a member of the ice crew during the third period,” one reporter starts. He pauses there as if expected Jack to say something (or at least react) but Jack just looks at him, keeping his face pleasantly patient. “Well, can you explain what happened?”

“I kissed him,” Jack says. Half the room blinks at him, the other half chuckles as if it is supposed to be a joke. 

“Um, well, do you… do you do that often?” the same reporter asks and Jack can tell that the others are grateful, that they have their recorders up and pens ready. 

“I’d say so,” Jack says and he can no longer fight the smile that is rising to his face. “I mean, he is my boyfriend.”

The room explodes. 

*^*^*^

He tries to extract himself fairly quickly after that. In part because Bitty didn’t _want_ a whole big press conference and in part because he wants to go see Bitty right this second and after a few questions, they become repetitive and boring and he has _better_ things to do so…

_Yes, we live together but he has his own bedroom. No, we weren’t dating when I moved in. Yes, all the Falconers know - we have been dating almost a month, you know. Well, if you look back, we didn’t exactly hide anything so, no, I don’t think ‘being in the closet’ has affected our relationship._

He gives them that much and then ends with a smile and a _Please respect the privacy of my boyfriend, he is not a hockey player and did not sign up for this._

Jack leaves and all the guys are waiting in his locker room for him and he gets bombarded with hugs from his teammates and then Shitty is barreling through the door--

“That’s enough, fuckers! LET ME SEE MY BOY!” and even Tater makes room for him as the rest of the ice crew comes in, laughing and hollering and Lardo is being carried by Dex and Nursey and-

Bitty comes in last, sandwiched between Ransom and Holster and _bright red,_ maybe more red than Jack has ever seen him and--

“No,” Tater says, shoving Shitty away from Jack. “No, now they kiss for real, yes? No more secret!”

“It was never a secret,” Jack protests but he is getting shoved toward Bitty and that’s what he wanted anyway so.

“Hey,” Jack says over the yelling. 

“Hi,” Bitty replies and he doesn’t like PDA, Jack knows, but his face is tilted up and Jack has just _come out_ and they are surrounded by friends and it suddenly seems like it would be very stupid not to kiss him.

So he does. On the mouth this time and he starts it soft just to be sure Bitty can pull away if he wants to but Bitty grabs him and yanks him and it’s not their filthiest kiss (not by a freakin’ long shot) but it’s more than Jack allowed himself to hope for.

It continues for only a couple seconds though. Then Tater is dragging them apart and--

“Okay, okay, enough!”

“MY TURN!” Shitty yells and then Shitty is laying one on Jack’s mouth and Tater does too before,

“No sex though, Zimmboni,” he says. “Seriously, no sex in locker room, okay? This is my place.”

Jack isn’t going to say anything - he’s not - but Bitty lets out a squeaking cough and Tater turns to him and--

“Oh, no,” Tater says. “Please, no.”

“GET IT BITS!” Ransom shouts.

“I’m so sorry,” Bitty tells Tater. The rest of the team is yelling now, more than one person punching Jack in the back. “Really, I am. Would a pie help? I can make you a pie, Tater. It was just the one time, I promise.”

(The next day, Bitty ends up making two pies for Tater.)

(What can he say? Everyone finally cleared out and they were left alone. It couldn’t be helped.)

*^*^*^

So Jack becomes the first openly gay NHL Hockey Player.

Despite the support of his teammates and his friends and the Falconers’ management team, once the rumor becomes fact, it’s… 

It’s rough. There are suddenly paparazzi outside their Haus and some of the stares Jack gets in Providence are not as nice as they were before and he’s already known not to read the comment sections about himself, but the boys haven’t been trained to stay away so Shitty, Ransom, and Holster stay up for almost 48 hours immediately after it hits, “trolling the fucking trolls, bro, TROLLING THE TROLLS” and Jack doesn’t really know what that means but he knows that it takes Lardo disconnecting the internet to get them to stop. 

Bitty’s vlog and twitter get flooded overnight with people - some good, some bad but it’s overwhelming enough that he goes private for a little while. Jack thinks that overall, people are supportive but somehow it’s a lot harder to remember that the fans all wore rainbow clothing to his first game as an openly gay man when he is on the road and there are signs calling him disgusting slurs that are then echoed by huge men as they slam into him. 

He keeps his head down and takes it though. Focuses on scoring and wiping the smug smirks off their faces and shakes his head when Tater overhears something and goes to skate after them. (Sometimes Tate fights them anyway, but not often. Not as much as he’d like to. As he says, “You captain. You call the shots, but…”)

It’s worth it. Jack is reminded of that every day when he skypes Bitty or gets a text from him ( _Ransom and Holster put my old ESPN magazines on my bed with a card that said ‘For when Jack is away,’_ Bitty writes. _I hate them. But also when are you going to do one of these?_ ) or, even better, goes _home_ to Bitty, warm and soft and he doesn’t regret it. But it’s hard. Maybe harder than he thought it would be.

Still, despite it all, despite the rage that Jack can feel simmering under the surface, he always assumed it would stay on the ice. That no one was going to risk saying anything to him in the locker room or in public. Even the guys he knew believed what they were saying, whose slurs came out too natural to merely be trying to get to him... he figured they would know when to stop. 

He never thought one of them would be stupid enough to bring Bitty into it.

But, in late February, they play the Wildcats and Jack is listening to his coaches during a commercial break, but he also has one eye on Bitty because… well they are up by 3 at the beginning of the third period and, really, he always has an eye on Bitty nowadays. 

Which is why he sees when Chad Melvin, one of the defensemen who has been in Jack’s face this entire game, skates over to where Bitty and Chowder are still working to clear the area around the goal. He looks huge next to Bitty and Jack watches as Bitty’s eyes flick up to him when he gets too close and Bitty opens his mouth (probably to say something about how they are almost finished, how he will be out of the way in just one second) but Mervin dips closer, lowering his head and says _something_ before skating off.

Jack frowns and then something in his chest goes white-hot because Bitty looks… well, shocked and then flushed and he’s not moving except to bite his bottom lip which he only does before he might be about to cry and--

And Bitty might not look openly angry but Chowder is livid, has dropped into Goalie mode, and is poised like he is going to go after Melvin himself but he takes one stride and--

 _“Chowder, don’t_ ,” Jack can’t hear it but he can read Bitty’s lips and see that Bitty has moved to stand in front of him. Chowder looks like he wants to argue and- “ _Please,_ ” Bitty says, shaking his head. 

There is a thud of sticks on the floor that means his coaches are done speaking and Jack just has to hope he is actually supposed to be on the ice because he vaults over the side anyway, skating over to Bitty and--

“What did he say to you?” Jack growls. Bitty and Chowder are finishing up, putting the goal back, skating away with their shovels and-

“Nothing,” Bitty says. The high spots of color on his cheekbones and his worried eyes and the way he doesn’t quite look up tell Jack it’s a lie. “He didn’t say anything, okay, Jack, just-- Don’t worry about it.”

A glance at Chowder shows that he still looks furious and Bitty follows his gaze and tries again.

“I’m fine, okay? Just- just leave it alone. Please, don’t-” They are at the edge of the rink then and Jack can’t very well follow him off the ice but he sees that Shitty is there and his eyes are dark and serious as well, like maybe he saw what happened too and so Shitty will help Bitty. 

Jack turns to Melvin.

“Jack,” Bitty says. “Don’t-”

It’s too late. Jack is already skating away. 

He barely waits for the puck to hit the ice before abandoning it completely and he doesn’t even pretend it’s not a dirty hit. He plows into Melvin from behind and has his gloves dropped before Mervin even has time to spin to him and--

Jack is not a fighter. He’s not quite big enough and is, frankly, too valuable (he’s supposed to be the guy _scoring_ during the power plays) and he never really bothered to learn the technique so, sure, he feels when the actual enforcers on his team rush to help him but he doesn’t stop and he doesn’t really feel the hits that Mervin manages to land because the rage of four weeks of being called a freak and a fucker and a fag rushes out as well as his rage at Bitty’s parents and his rage at _Chad Melvin_ for _ever_ saying something to Bitty comes out and--

When Melvin falls to the ice and one of the Wildcats manage to pull Jack up and away, Jack simply starts hitting him too because _fuck_ the Wildcats, fuck this whole thing, and he doesn’t even realize that at some point, it’s his own teammates dragging him away (probably because he can’t see out of one eye, there is blood pouring from a cut above his eyebrow). 

“Zimm- Jack!” That’s Tater and he’s Jack’s friend, Jack remembers. 

In that moment, Jack wants to kill him too. 

Melvin is getting back up, Jack can see him getting up. He attempts to break Tater’s hold on him and can’t and so spits blood in his general direction and, yup, there it is, he’s being ejected and escorted off by his own teammates and the crowd is going crazy because Captain Jack _Zimmermann_ has just tried to _kill_ someone and--

“Kill him, Tater,” Jack orders, refocusing. Tater is still skating him towards the exit. Jack still hasn’t turned around to help him at all. “Fucking _kill_ him. Throw this whole fucking game if you have to.”

Tater looks at him and Jack knows he must be a sight. He’s lost his helmet and there’s the sticky wetness of blood across one side of his face and he’s breathing hard and--

“Okay, Zimms,” Tater says. “You captain. I promise. I tell team.”

*^*^*^

Jack does not want to do the Press room after the game. He wants to go see Bitty. And then go home. But he is in trouble and he knows that and he doesn’t _want_ to get suspended for more games so--

 _Stay calm and apologize_ , George orders him. _You’re sorry. You lost your temper and you are_ sorry _, you got that?_

Jack nods even though he’s not sure he is going to be able to pull that off convincingly. He has a cut on his left eyebrow that they had to butterfly together, his cheek bone is bruised and already swelling, and he has a split lip that threatens to start bleeding everytime he talks.

 _And for god’s sake, keep your hands under the table_ , George says, looking at them. They are also split open and bruised to hell. 

He doesn’t think putting a Falconer’s hat on is going to hide his face at all, but she crams on one his head and he lets her and steps out. 

He is reminded he is at home with Falcs reporters when the first few questions are easy ones. 

_How are you feeling?_ Bruised but fine. _No other injuries?_ No, I’m good to play if I’m allowed to. _Does it hurt to talk?_ It’s not great, to be honest.

Of course, that’s never going to be all it is. 

“So, Jack,” A reporter says after the small, nervous bout of laughter from his last answer dies down. “That was… uncharacteristic for you. You haven’t been in many fights at all. Can you tell us what happened out there?”

“I lost my temper,” Jack grinds out. To be honest, he doesn’t think he’s really found it again. It’s a challenge to keep his face neutral. “I’m sor-”

“Jack, have you been harassed since coming out?” Someone else asks. “About your sexuality?”

Jack takes a breath. Remembers his script.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” he repeats. “That’s part of playing professional hockey, no matter what--”

“So you have?” a reporter says. “You have been harassed because of your sexuality?”

Jack clamps his jaw. He doesn’t know what they want him to say. What George would want him to say.

“Yes,” he says. It comes out short, clipped. This isn’t about him. He can take it. He’s fine. “But, I still shouldn’t have--”

“Can you say by who?” Another reporter cuts in. 

“I don’t think you have the time.” Jack snaps. He’s not even sure he could remember all of them at this point. He doesn’t want to think about this anymore. His head hurts and he’s tired and he wants to see Bitty. 

“Jack, is that what happened tonight? Did Chad Melvin say something to you? Is that why you lost it?”

“I ‘lost it,’” Jack growls. “Because Melvin said something to my _boyfriend_ , who _doesn’t_ play professional hockey and who didn’t sign up to deal with this shit. Watch the fucking tape.”

It pops out before he can think to stop it and there’s a flutter of movement and cameras go off and Jack is dimly aware that he’s losing it, that they should not have let him do this press conference. He stands to leave because that’s what he should do now. He should leave. Of course, right as he is going to, another voice rings out. 

“Do you think having your boyfriend on the ice is a distraction? Would it be better if he wasn’t working for--”

“Are you _honestly_ suggesting,” he growls, stopping his exit and leaning forward. “That my boyfriend be _fired_ from his job because _he was verbally harassed_?” 

He doesn’t know how his voice sounds. He just knows that everyone else in the room goes completely and utterly silent.

“What? No, I--” The reporter is trying to backtrack but it’s too late. Jack feels the same rush of blood to his head as he had on the ice and he hates all of them, he realizes. Every single person in the room who pretends to give a _damn_ about him or Bitty or any of them when all they care about is hockey and all they’ve ever cared about is fucking _hockey_.

“That’s literally what you just said,” Jack says, forgetting about keeping his hands under the table and gesturing to the man. The sound of cameras is deafening. Jack raises his voice to talk over them. “That Bitty should lose his job because a _professional_ hockey player went up to him while he was _doing_ that job and insulted him. That’s what you just-- He should be fired so I can play a _game_. That’s-- you-- You know what? Fuck this. Fuck this entire sport.”

*^*^*^

He makes it approximately three steps into the tunnel before George catches up to him and he feels her hand on his arm but--

“Don’t talk to me,” Jack growls at George and it’s wrong, he knows that. He’s fucked up here and she’s always been nice to him and the whole franchise has been nothing but supportive but he feels like he’s losing it a little bit here, like it’s all too much and so- “And if the Falconers so much _think_ about firing Bitty for this, I’ll bring the lawsuit up against them myself.”

“Jack,” George says but he doesn’t wait to hear what she has to say. He just keeps walking and there’s a million things he should do. He should go to the locker room and thank his teammates (because he has seen from the trainers room that eventually the Wildcats just benched Melvin because he was getting hit so much and the game has been brutal. The Falconers had won but it was more Snowy’s goaltending than anything else. The entire third period was one long power play for the Wildcats.) and he should clean up the locker room that he partly destroyed and he should calm down and _talk to George_.

He doesn’t do any of those things. He just lets his legs lead him to where he wants to be and he doesn’t know what he looks like when he pushes the door open to the break room but they all rise immediately. 

Bitty’s been crying. Still is and suddenly Jack doesn’t know if it’s because of Melvin or Jack and all his anger leaves him and suddenly he is just _scared_ , scared that he’s fucked this up too and-- He snatches off his hat.

“We’ve got the ice,” Shitty says. And they file out silently, Ransom and Holster both giving him slaps on the shoulder that he thinks are friendly but could also be apologetic. Shitty looks at him with eyes that convey some type of message but Jack doesn’t have the energy to decipher it. 

Bitty doesn’t move. The terror in Jack’s throat spikes up to his eyes and he’s breathless with it.

“Bitty,” he starts, taking one shaky step closer. “I’m sorry. I- I know you told me to ignore it but I- I couldn’t and- please, Bitty. Please, just--”

“You’re hurt,” Bitty says. He’s shaking too. “Jack, you’re-”

“No, I’m okay,” Jack says. “I-”

“There was blood,” Bitty says. “It was all over the ice. Ransom and Holster had to clean it up. I saw-”

“I’m sorry,” Jack repeats. A part of him doesn’t understand why they aren’t touching yet. He wants to be. He _needs_ to be. He takes another step towards Bitty. 

“Jack, you- you _attacked_ him.” Jack stops moving. He had. There was no other word for it. He hadn’t even regretted it until this moment. 

“Please,” Jack says. God, he knows Bitty has issues with dealing with anger and he’d just… he’d just proven that he is _violent_. “I’m so sorry, okay? It won’t happen again, I promise. Just please, don’t- don’t leave me, I-”

“Jack, _no_ , I-”

Bitty finally moves then. He looks at Jack’s face and then bursts into tears and _throws_ himself forward and it hurts, when he hits into Jack’s chest, because Jack has a bruise there and the top of Bitty’s head nudges his chin which is already darkening but it’s--

Everything instantly seems better. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m sorry I made you worry. I’m sorry that you had to deal with this.”

“No, Jack,” Bitty says again. “It’s not that- it’s-”

He is crying too hard for a moment and Jack holds him tighter.

“N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before,” Bitty says. “And you’re never to do that again because it was stupid and dangerous and I don’t know what I’d do if-”

“I’m okay,” Jack says. “Bitty, I promise I’m okay.”

“Even when I was locked in a closet overnight,” Bitty says. Jack doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t need to. The statement punches him in the gut anyway. “We- My parents- no one _said_ anything. We just moved. Ignored it. My dad suggested I quit figure skating.”

Jack is positive he’s hurting Bitty now. With how hard he is holding him. He can’t stop. 

“You- you are so _wonderful_ ,” Bitty continues. “And, god, I love you. I love you so much and you can never do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says. “I’ll try. Never again.”

Bitty laughs then, a wet snort.

“You’ll try?” he says, tilting his head up.

“It’s the best I can do,” Jack admits. “Honestly, I don’t- I don’t even remember deciding to do it. It just happened.”

“Do you remember telling Tater to kill him?” Bitty asks and the mood is lightening. Jack can feel it. “Because he told me you did.”

“I think,” Jack says. 

“He wouldn’t leave my side during the last two timeouts,” Bitty says. “Not until Holster got there. And he told me, ‘Don’t worry, Bittle. Jack say I kill Melvin. I handle him.’” It’s a truly terrible attempt at Tater’s Russian accent but it has Jack laughing anyway and-

“You have to be careful!” Bitty says, giggling. “Saying that to a Russian. He might have taken you seriously, Jack.”’

“Okay,” Jack says and he is suddenly very tired. “Okay, anything you want.”

“I want to sit down,” Bitty says. There’s a couch in the breakroom, small and ratty and it might actually be worse than the one in the Haus but Jack walks them over and sits on it and Bitty crawls into his lap and looks at him and--

“You look terrible,” Bitty says, wiping his eyes again. “Just terrible, Jack.”

“I’m okay,” Jack replies. “I feel a lot better now.”

Bitty humphs in disagreement and leans down to kiss him gently. He frowns at the flinch that Jack can’t help. His mouth hurts. So Bitty frowns and then places another kiss carefully on his right cheek, where there’s not as much bruising. Then he curls up and rests his head on Jack’s chest and they sit.

Jack shuts his eyes. Focuses on nothing but the rise and fall of Bitty’s chest against his own.

He loses track of how long they sit there. He’s not sure if he sleeps or just drifts but eventually Bitty stirs and--

“Are you gonna get suspended?” he asks, his voice small and worried.

“Probably,” Jack replies. At this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. It was all worth it. “I, uh, in the press room I might have lost my temper a little bit.”

“Again?”

“Well, I hadn’t gotten to see you yet,” Jack says. And that was a mistake. He should have seen Bitty _before_ going to talk to the press. He hopes the Falconer’s realize that for next time. Not that there’s going to be a next time, but if there is… 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bitty tells him. “I love you.”

*^*^*^

The door bangs open forty-five minutes later and--

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” Shitty says. They had definitely both been dozing but Jack wakes up instantly and Bitty stirs in his arms. “Did you really tell a roomful of reporters ‘Fuck this and fuck this entire sport?’”

“You did _not_ ,” Bitty says. 

“Umm,” Jack says. “Yes?”

“Holy SHIT!” Shitty says and Bitty gets lifted off Jack’s lap by Holster so Shitty and Ransom can pull Jack up and tackle him. It hurts. “Holy shit, you fucking perfect human specimen!”

“The video is already out, then?” Jack says, wincing.

“Dude, they were showing it _live_ ,” Ransom says. “And now on repeat! They barely had time to bleep it out!”

Jack groans as Shitty kisses him full on the mouth.

“You beautiful fucker. You beautiful anti-heteronormative fucker. What else did you do?”

“I told Tater to kill Chad Melvin,” Jack says. “And then I- well, I told George that if they fired Bitty I would sue.”

“YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKER!”

“Jack, you did _not_ ,” Bitty repeats but it’s lost in the yells of triumph that ring out through the break room and--

They all end up back on the ice, even though previously Jack would have said all that he wanted to do was go home.

“You’re gonna be suspended for forever,” Ransom reasons. “We gotta get you your ice time in now.”

Jack laughs and laces back up and he didn’t know Shitty had Tater’s number or that Tater would be willing to come back after leaving and after all the trouble Jack caused him but he does and he brings Snowy and Poots (Jack apologizes to all of them and it’s a thousand times more sincere than his apologies to the press because they didn’t deserve that, his team has already been dealing with so much because of all of this and-- they threaten to punch him if he keeps talking). They stay way too late. And break into one of the vending areas and steal beer (that Jack promises himself he will pay for). Tater and Shitty recreate Jack’s fight at least a dozen times and he’s not supposed to be happy about this, Jack knows. He’s supposed to feel bad and worried and maybe he will.

Not tonight, though. 

Tonight he makes Bitty show him more figure skating and accepts it when Bitty shoes people away from checking him ( _He is recovering, Holster. And that goes for you too, Tater_ ) and, really, it’s the best he’s felt in weeks.

*^*^*^

Jack is under strict orders from George to just keep his head down and stay out of the spotlight. He’s under strict orders to not watch the media coverage and not worry about it and he should listen. Because he had called her to apologize and had only gotten halfway through his very long speech before she is stopping him and apologizing to _him_ that they hadn’t done more to rectify this situation, that they hadn’t known Melvin said something to Bitty until he told them and they hadn’t realized the full extent to which he was being harassed on the ice and it was their job to make sure he was safe. Which is ridiculous because of course he was safe. But he should at least listen to her. But when he wakes up at 8am unable to go back to sleep, he extracts himself from Bitty’s arms and--

_“There is just no doubt that Zimmermann should be suspended for at least two games, if not more. It’s like he said himself, you can’t lose your temper like that.”_

_“Guys lose their temper in games all the time. I’m not sure why we are making such a big deal of this. He lost his temper - for good reason. Slap a fine on him for unnecessary roughness or unsportsmanlike if you want to, but_ suspension _? Really?”_

_“He went out for blood and you know it. The hit was dirty, he had to be dragged away by his own teammates, he spat blood as he was leaving and then… well, we all saw him say something to Alexei Mashkov. And the man proceeded to almost get thrown out of the game himself.”_

_“Well, let’s swing to what_ else _we saw on the tapes. Which is exactly what Zimmermann told us to look for. You see right here, Chad Melvin skates up to Zimmermann’s boyfriend and you can see he says_ something _. I mean, you can tell by his face and the reaction of the other ice crew member.”_

_“Eric Bittle - that’s Zimermann’s boyfriend- you can see Bittle try to tell everyone to calm down - he’s fine, he’s willing to let it go - but Zimmermann doesn’t listen.”_

_“Would you listen? Imagine if your girlfriend or wife was harassed by a man three times her size. I’m sorry, Zimms had complete justification for going after him like he did. Especially when you also consider that he’s been dealing with this verbal abuse since he came out.”_

_“Verbal abuse? Really? C’mon, guys talk smack on the ice all the time. It’s part of the game.”_

_“It’s not the same and you know it. It’s one thing to get generally cursed out a little, but to get called a-- well, I can’t say it on the air, but that’s not right. And I think, if anything, this incident has made the issue of homophobia in sports really clear.”_

_“Oh, c’mon. A 21 year old guy playing a high contact sport lost his temper. We don’t have to turn this into a whole_ thing _.”_

 _“No, listen, you have organizations out there like You Can Play telling kids and teens that they are welcome in sports and then you have a Stanley Cup Winner - who is also the captain of his team and_ known _for being even-headed - driven to this extreme. And, we’re gonna talk about being safe on the ice? His boyfriend isn’t even safe on the ice and he’s not even playing the game!”_

_“Okay, fine, you’re right there. Melvin never should have said anything to him. They should look into having him pay a fine or something. That was wrong, but I don’t think--”_

_“It’s not just Melvin! Look at the interview. Zimmermann is_ done _. He says that we literally wouldn’t have the time for him to list everyone that’s harassed him on the ice.”_

_“So now it’s everyone’s fault. Everyone who has ever said anything to him is to blame for him losing his temper and trying to seriously injure another player. What do you want? All of them to be fined?”_

_“I want people to watch the interview where Zimmermann came out a month ago and then watch the interview from last night and acknowledge that there is an issue in the NHL - in all professional sports - and something has to be done about it. Because you don’t get from one to the other in just one night, with just one asshole saying something to a guy’s boyfriend. It wasn’t an isolated incident and we all know it and if we don’t do something about it, we are going to lose a great name in hockey.”_

_“You’re being overdramat--”_

The TV clicks off and Jack turns to find Shitty standing there with the remote.

“C’mon, man,” Shitty says. “You don’ t need to watch this shit. Why are you even awake? I’m only here to chug water and go back to bed.”

“Do you think he’s right?” Jack says, staring at the television even though it is black. 

“The asshole who is saying that talking smack in the form of homophobic slurs is ‘all part of the game’?” Shitty says, raising one eyebrow. “No, Jack, I don’t think he is even pretending to be anything other than a giant bag of dicks.”

“No, not him,” Jack says. That commentator is known for being an asshole. “The other one. Who said that it wasn’t an isolated incident. Who thinks it’s been… festering. For a month.”

Shitty looks at him. “I think you know it’s been festering.”

That’s… Jack doesn’t know that. Or he didn’t. He didn’t think about it. 

“I- I thought I was handling it,” Jack says, shrugging one shoulder. “I didn’t know it was _affecting_ me.” 

Shitty comes around and sits next to him on the couch. 

“Bro, you… it would affect anyone. You’re getting hit way more - anyone can see that, anyone can look back at the stats and _prove_ that. And that’s not counting any shit that they are saying while they do it.”

“I’m not supposed to care about that stuff,” Jack mumbles. He’s not. He’s supposed to let it go and he cares about _Bitty_ but he’s put up with being called plenty of things in his career - “overrated little punk” and “daddy’s boy” and… so many things. This shouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t matter.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shitty says. “Of course you can care about that stuff. It’s… they are being bigots, Jack. Bad people, full stop. Assholes. And you shouldn’t have to deal with it. It’s not fair.”

“It’s… I just hadn’t really thought about it,” Jack admits. He had been so careful to _not_ talk about it and not think about it and-- “I mean, I _don’t_ think about it. When I’m home.”

When he’s home, there’s Bitty and all his friends and the outside world fades away. When he’s home, there’s Halo to play and ridiculous challenges that Shitty makes up that Jack tries to win and they played a week long game of monopoly once (he’d actually taken a picture of the board and his money with him when they went to Pittsburgh, he didn’t trust any of his roommates not to cheat). When he’s home, they spend their days completing minor updates around the house or having arts and crafts days or going to the rink and fooling around and when he’s home, he _is_ fine. All the pressure in his head fades away and he gets to kiss Bitty and they are happy and-

He hadn’t realized it, but he has started to dread going on roadies. And not just because he didn’t get to see Bitty or his friends or sleep in his own bed. It has become... stressful. 

It won’t do any good to think about it though. He can’t change it.

“It’s okay if it’s affecting you,” Shitty says, right as Jack twistes his mouth shut and decides to let this go. “Maybe you need to just… let it. Not be okay all the time.”

Jack is the captain of the Falconers. It was his choice to come out. He most certainly does have to be okay all the time. Or at least he has to keep it under some sort of control. Maybe it will be just like his anxiety. He keeps track of it and keeps a hold of it. Because he can’t let down his team like that again. He has to take care of people, he has to care of--

“Is Bitty okay?” Jack asks, suddenly worried. “When I’m not around?”

“He’s fine, man,” Shitty says. “I think he’s handling this better than you. I mean… it’s shit to say, but I think Bitty… the worst thing that can happen when you come out has already happened to him. And he gets to come to work with us and the bakery he works at part time is full of young people and-- he’s fine, Jack.”

Jack nods, relieved but--

“How are you, though?” Shitty asks. “Honestly… last night… It was awesome, don’t get me wrong, and Melvin fucking deserved it but also… kinda scary. Non-dickwad announcer was right. That doesn’t just happen.”

“I’m--” Jack starts. He is okay, he is, he _is_. “I’m just tired.” 

Saying it makes it a hundred times more true. He is tired. He is tired of feeling like it’s a battle to go on the ice every night and he’s tired of wondering which guys are going to say something and he’s even tired of telling Tater _it’s fine, it’s fine, just let it go_. He’s tired of hockey.

He’s so tired that all of a sudden his eyes are filled with tears and he clenches his fist but can’t force them back into his skull.

“Okay,” Shitty says. “That’s okay, Jack. You’re allowed to be tired.”

“I just- I love hockey,” Jack says, screwing his throat closed so it doesn’t catch on the words. Because he _does_ , he does love it but this past month… He takes a breath. He can do this. He’s okay. “I was so excited and I just… I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

And despite everything, his breath hitches at that and embarrassment floods him because he can’t keep the tears from spilling over and, fuck, he’s crying. He’s crying over these assholes and he had made a promise to himself that he would never do that, not about this but he’s--

“Fuck,” he says, trying to wipe his eyes and then snatching his hand away when the motion _hurts_. Because his face is one big bruise. Because Chad Melvin had called him a ‘fucking fag’ three times in the first period and then said something to _Bitty_ and-- “I just- I just wanna play hockey. I don’t want to do… this.”

“I know, man, come here,” Shitty says and Jack wants to struggle and push him away because he’s crying and he’s not supposed to be but instead he finds himself sort of collapsing into Shitty’s arms. “Come on, it’s okay. It’s gonna get better, okay. I promise.”

“I just wanna play hockey,” it slips out one more time before Jack can stop it. And he hates it. How broken it sounds, even to his own ears.

“You’re gonna,” Shitty says. “For a long, long time. And Bitty will keep making pies that you aren’t allowed to eat because of your stupid nutrition plan and you’ll keep sneaking pieces anyway and then doing like five hundred sit-ups to make up for it, just like now, with some squats so that booty stays looking good and making Ransom jealous--”

Jack’s tears slow eventually but Shitty doesn’t let go until Bitty comes down, probably noticing that Jack was missing. Jack is still exhausted and Bitty takes one look at him and must know because he wordlessly takes Shitty’s place, curling around Jack and maybe Jack started crying again first, maybe Bitty started and then Jack did but Bitty takes a gasp and starts murmuring things that Jack doesn’t hear but feels in his chest.

“You’re both going to be fine,” Shitty tells them and then he is pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. “Just fine. Go back to sleep.”

*^*^*^

In the end, Jack is suspended for two games and fined $5,000. He gets a long formal letter about how the level of violence he exhibited is “unbecoming to a professional hockey player of the National Hockey League” and how “taking matters which should be handled off the ice into his own hands is not something that the league can tolerate” and it’s strange because he opens it and then he opens a second letter from the same commissioner stating how they are dedicated to ensuring that every player feels supported by the league, fans, and by other players regardless of their “race, religion, or sexual orientation.”

It all feels sort of meaningless. Like empty words. When George calls, he expects her to tell him that he has to do a press conference apologizing yet again for his behavior. Instead, she tells him to turn on ESPN at 4 o’cock this evening and hangs up before he can ask any questions.

The ice crew is already at the rink, preparing for a home game (the first Jack will miss), so Jack is alone when he watches his teammates assemble for a rare pre-game press conference. 

“Hello,” It is Snowy who stands up to get the speech and Jack would assume that it is going to be a younger player’s angry rant about injustice, except Guy and Marty and Thirdy are standing right behind him. “We’re going to keep this short since well… you all already know the f-- what happened.”

Jack snorts at that, even though he’s aching to be there. To play. 

“We just wanted to say, that all of us, as a team,” he gestures behind him half a beat too late and is still looking at his stack of notecards. “We think that the fact we won’t have our captain here tonight is ridiculous and unjust and _homophobic_ and--” He stops and takes a breath and he is angry, Jack can tell. But he’s holding it together. Probably for the best. They don’t need another Falconer losing it on national television. “Because of this, we have all pledged to donate $5,000 - the amount that Zimmboni has been fined - to the You Can Play Foundation and we call on all other players in the NHL to do the same. Thank you.”

Snowy finally looks up as the cameras start flashing and Jack isn’t really processing what has just happened - can’t yet - but he figures that’s it. It was short and simple and--

Snowy steps aside and Tater smoothly takes his place. 

They don’t usually have Tater do press.

“And, one other thing,” he says. Tater does not have notecards. “For long time now - a month almost- Zimmboni has been telling me -- telling all of us -- to just let things go. To not fight. To ignore when he gets hit for no reason or called names for stupid reason. He thought this was best. To not, uh, as he say, ‘make big deal.’”

Jack doesn’t think they told George about this part.

“But, I want to say that I am not listening to captain anymore,” Tater continues. “If you hit Jack, you get me. If you call him name, you get me. If I think you look at him funny, you get me. Okay? You stay far away from my captain. Then we have no problem. If you don’t then… well we have problem. You have problem.”

The guys are all grinning, nodding, and a “HELL YEAH” rises from the back of the group where Jack can’t see but it sounds like Poots.

“Also,” Tater says, once the ruckus dies down a little. “Also, if you do anything to Eric Bittle, I kill you. No joke.”

The Falconers go into uproar again but Tater just nods, no sign he is anything less than 100% serious on his face, and walks off and the Falconers follow him and Jack is almost glad he’s alone because he is dangerously close to crying again. Because before this year he was such a bad captain, he focused on hockey and nothing else and still his teammates are all nodding and Snowy had given the speech and Tater is out there threatening to _kill_ people (and that’s wrong, he should make a statement as the captain about how no one should kill anyone) and he’s…

He can’t believe he doesn’t get to be there.

*^*^*^

It doesn’t end there. It’s all the announcers talk about during the pre-game- _“The Falconers have basically declared war on anybody in the league who dares to say something to their captain, who came out as homosexual earlier this year. He is suspended for two games right now for fighting so it will be interesting to see how they fare without him.”_

 _“And then with him, Mike, because that was a fierce message Alexei Mashkov just broadcasted and--_ ” 

The Falcs play well the first half of the period and Jack sighs because he knows that the broadcast always cuts to commercials so he won’t get to see Bitty but then it cuts back (maybe a little earlier than usual?) and the announcers are laughing and--

_“If you’re joining us from home, we just have to fill you in on what’s happening at Faber Stadium right now. During the commercial break, Alexei Mashkov refused to leave the ice, instead opting to stand right next to Jack Zimmermann’s boyfriend, Eric Bittle!”_

The screen cuts to what has to be a replay. Of Tater skating over to stand next to Bitty and Bitty frowning up at him and--

 _“Bittle, who is one of the crew in charge of clearing off the area around the goal, clearly tried to get Mashkov to go back to the bench,”_ A cut to Bittle waving his arms in a clear shooing motion, then pointing. _“But Mashkov refused to leave, instead standing there as if daring one of the Flyers to come over._ ” A cut to the Flyers all putting their hands up, laughing. 

_“Even after the Flyers made it clear they were not going to risk messing with Bittle, Mashkov didn’t leave and it looks like Bittle is not too happy about this._ ” Another cut and there’s no sound but Jack can see Bitty scolding Tater and Tater is laughing, even when Bitty dips down to throw ice at him to try and get him to leave and Bitty’s laughing now too, Jack can tell. Beat red, maybe, but laughing and he rolls his eyes when the timeout ends and Tater finally starts to skate away, yelling something at Tater’s back. _“Well, that just goes to show you that the Falconers were not messing around when they said no one was going to mess with their captain or his boyfriend again.”_

 _“He must have had to get permission from the coaches to do that, too,”_ the second announcer cuts in. _“This is unprecendented but, you know, that’s a part of what makes this Providence team special, especially this year._ ”

Of course, because Jack’s team is a bunch of _idiots_ , it continues. The next break Poots skates out to stand with Bitty and then Thirdy and then Snowy (even though that’s stupid, Snowy is a _goalie_ , he needs a chance to sit down) and Bitty isn’t quite brave enough to yell at Guy but he must say something because Guy’s face actually breaks out into a _smile_ as he stands there and--

When Tater comes back for the last commercial break, Bitty yells at him so long that eventually Tater just ducks his head and grabs Bitty’s shovel and starts doing the ice work himself and they didn’t bother cutting to commercials and the crowd is on it’s feet, Jack can see, cheering and clapping and it makes no sense because the Falcs are down by 2 and no one seems to mind that Tater is out there scraping away ice instead of focusing on strategy and--

The Falconers lose. The Falconers lose and the obvious question to ask Marty, their oldest veteran who takes over doing the press is, “Do you think having one man left out of every strategy session hurt your performance today?”

Marty shrugs and says: “Not really. I think we were missing our captain and lead-scorer. And, you know what? Even if it did, I think somethings are more important that hockey.”

*^*^*^

They grab Bitty too. In the locker room so it’s loud (as if the guys are celebrating even though they’ve lost) and at first Jack frowns because he knows Bitty never wanted to do anything public but Tater has his arm around him and Bitty looks cross but playfully so and, dear god, he is _adorable_. 

“So, Mr. Bittle, this is the first time we’ve actually managed to get you to do an interview,” the reporter starts. 

“Stupid,” Tater booms from above him. “You should have grabbed him before. He is the better half, you know?”

“Well, I, uh, well, gosh, I’m not the famous one here,” Bitty says and his accent comes out thicker. Like it does when he’s embarrassed. It hurts to smile this wide but Jack can’t stop. “I’m just, uh--”

“He win over Jack’s heart!” Tater says. “With pies and good looks.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bitty says, going impossibly more red.

“Eric, what did you think of the events of tonight?”

“I think these boys are _ridiculous_ ,” Bitty says, a smile taking over his face. “Ridiculous and silly, I did _not_ need bodyguards this whole game--”

“Bodyguard?” Tater says. “No, no, I’m your assistant. Did you not see? I do the whole last clean up.”

“I also think Tater is the worst ice cleaner I have ever seen in my life,” Bitty says. “I think he should probably just stick to hockey.”

Tater laughs and someone hits him from behind with a “See, you were fucking terrible!” 

“Can you tell us about Jack?” the reporter asks. “How is he feeling? Is he healthy?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Bitty says, still laughing. He looks so happy Jack could cry. “A little bruised up but- totally healthy. Really, he’s...” He looks up and away from the camera for a second and Jack can almost _see_ last night playing through his head when Bitty had worried openly about this being too hard and Jack had put _all_ his energy into proving that Bitty is _exactly_ what he wants, now and always, and Jack colors and Tater’s grin goes impossible more delighted. “Good. Very good.” Bitty says, sounding a bit dazed and then clearing his throat. “He’s very healthy. I mean, uh, ready for hockey.”

“Probably tired though,” Tater says, attempting to look serious and failing. “Sounds like he might be tired too, right Bitty? You letting him rest at all?”

“Oh dear _lord_ ,” Bitty says, covering his face with one hand. “I didn’t- Jack Zimmermann is good to go for hockey. That’s what I meant.”

The reporter laughs and someone yells “DON’T WEAR OUT OUR CAPTAIN!” and someone else yells “NOW THAT’S CARDIO!” and Bitty now looks like he wants to _die_ but--

“Eric, what about Chad Melvin?” the reporter presses and Tater stops laughing instantly, standing straighter and looking ready to carry Bitty off if he needs to. “Is there anything you’d like to say to him?”

“Well,” Bitty says, eyes dropping for a second before looking back up. They are glittering. Jack recognizes that look. “From what I understand, the Falconers don’t actually play the Wildcats again this year so I guess he has a whole year to come up with some more original insults. Since I _know_ his shitty team isn’t going to be making the playoffs.”

He drops the last line with a smirk and the whole locker room goes nuts and it’s the beginning of a feud, Jack knows, but one he’ll be glad to carry on for the rest of his days and--

He thinks the reporter wants to ask another question but Tater is roaring and Bitty is laughing as he’s dragged away.

Jack is laughing from his spot on the couch too.

*^*^*^

Things happen.

Tater’s threats go viral. Video of all his teammates standing with Bitty goes viral. Bitty’s interview calling the Wildcats a shitty team goes viral. (The part where he implies he and Jack have been having lots and lots of sex is giffed a thousand different ways and all of them explode on tumblr).

Almost overnight, the NHL raises over 2 million dollars for You Can Play. Chad Melvin gives a brief press conference, issuing an apology, that absolutely no one believes. He is fined $20,000 for unsportsmanlike conduct and sent to sensitivity training and still, ESPN’s morning debates are suddenly about “whether or not he is a good enough player to justify keeping him on the roster.”

The Facls win their second game without Jack and then Jack is furious that management tells him they are benching him from a third “to give him an extra day to rest” (especially when the Falcs lose and they wouldn’t have if Jack had been there, he _knows_ it) but then he realizes that this means his first game back will be a home game.

He hadn’t realized it but it’s exactly what he needs to fall in love with hockey again. 

Because he’s seen his team in practice, but the vibe is _different_ now that it’s a game and when he stands up in front of them to give a little pre-game speech, he had planned to thank them for everything and to promise to make them proud and he thinks he manages to say some of that but it’s all fumbling and awkward and good lord, he is going to be chirped _forever_ if he tears up now and maybe he should have pulled a Snowy and written notecards and--

“Sorry,” he says when another sentence trails to a stop. “I mean sorry about the fight. And this. And just, uh, thank you, I guess and--”

“Aw, shut up!” Poots yells. “Let’s go play HOCKEY!”

“Yes,” Tater rumbles, standing and slinging an arm over Jack. “You good at hockey. Not so good at speeches.”

So they skate out and, as usual, Jack skates out last and--

The crowd is _deafening_. And just like his first game after he came out, people are wearing rainbows but this time it’s _more_ because the Falconers must have given out official rainbow flags with the Falconers logo on them to _everyone_ and bigger ones must have been available for sale because people are waving those too and they are on their feet even though Jack hasn’t played a single second of hockey yet. 

Usually, he hates acknowledging the crowd until it’s after he’s won. He likes focusing and pretending they aren’t there so his anxiety doesn’t act up and narrowing everything down to just the puck and his teammates but this--

He almost comes to a complete stop for a moment and looks around and takes it all in. He raises one hand in a wave and for once hopes that the crowd can see his smile underneath his helmet and then--

Well, and then he focuses. Because he has hockey to play and he’s been away for a whole _week_ and the Falconers haven’t secured their playoff spot yet. The crowd settles too and no one stands with Bitty this time (that has to be a one time thing, both Bitty and Jack had insisted). It’s a hockey game. Jack takes some checks because it’s a game but no one says anything to him and they are clean hits and in the end, it doesn’t matter, he still scores twice.

The Falconers win.

*^*^*^

Two games later and they are back on the road. Jack tells himself it going to be fine and sits next to Tater on the plane ride, though he takes the window and opens a history book anyway. Practice goes fine and Jack skypes Bitty for hours (Tater ends up doing a large amount of the talking once he gets back from dinner. Jack finds it relaxing just to sit back and watch Bitty’s reactions.)

“I watch out for him, Bitty,” Tater promises as he retreats to his bed. 

“There’s a pie in it for you,” Bitty promises. 

“ _Bitty,_ ” Jack says, sliding into his captain voice that Bitty always ignores. “He does not need-”

“Hush,” Bitty says. “Lord, I cannot wait til the summer. I’m going to spoil these boys good and proper.”

“And me?” Jack asks. 

“No,” Bitty says, turning up his nose. “No, you are too mean to Tater.”

Tater laughs and Jack pouts and--

“I love you,” he tells Bitty.

“Go get ‘em,” Bitty replies.

By the time they get to the stadium, Jack is nervous again. He keeps his eyes down when they go on the road, like he’s gotten used to. He doesn’t look at the stands and tries not to hunch his shoulders too much and tells himself they are just trying to get to him, that it doesn’t matter. He knows the rest of his team has probably noticed this and probably knows the reason why.

Which is why it’s a surprise when they skate out for warm-ups and, ”Look,” Tater orders, poking him in the shoulder before gesturing up. “Look up.”

Jack frowns but obeys, eyes skimming the crowd.

 _I STAND WITH ZIMMERMANN,_ a poster reads. Next to it, _BUT PLEASE LET THE AVALANCHE WIN!!_

They leave and go to another city and the trend continues.

_GAYS WELCOME! OVERPOWERED HOCKEY PLAYERS ARE NOT._

_STOP JZ FROM SCORING ON THE ICE! (OFF THE ICE IS FINE THOUGH)_

Jack’s favorite is one in San Jose that has Tater frowning a bit: _KILL ZIMMS SO I CAN STEAL HIS CUTE BF!_

It’s not perfect. Some people seem even more angry about Jack’s sexuality than they were before, especially now that he has received positive attention. There are fans who sneak in hateful banners and when they play in Carolina, there is an actual _protest_ outside the stadium. The internet comment section gets ugly. His dad gets in twitter fights almost daily. Bitty keeps his accounts private for the time being. 

Tater makes good on his promise though. He racks up penalty minutes and when he has to worry about getting ejected, Guy steps in. Jack gets in two more fights that maybe previously he would have avoided, but he keeps them clean and keeps himself relatively calm during. It affects their gameplay in that they lose some games that they should have won but Jack feels better again, good about hockey and, if it stays like this, this is something he could keep doing for a long time.

*^*^*^

That ends up being a good thing. Because the Falconers keep winning.

They make it into the playoffs (only with a few games to spare this time around but they still make it) and then they win the first round in five games and--

It’s not that Jack doesn’t know they are playing in playoff games. It’s not that he doesn’t feel the pressure and it’s not that his brain doesn’t start chanting _have to score, have to score, have to score_ whenever they are down or tied. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. Of, course he does. 

He just… it’s different, this time around. Because everything about the playoffs is elevated. The stress, yes; the pressure and the touch of panic but also the excitement and the _fun_.

When the second round starts with a _shutout_ , Jack finds himself spending almost the entire press conference talking about how much they owe Snowy and their defensemen then _joking_ about how Snowy’s extra practice with the ice crew has paid off. He forgets his usual line of “we have to keep pressing forward to the next one. This was only game 1” until the very end and then sort of tacks it on because he is supposed to be the captain. He is supposed to be responsible.

The thing is, he doesn’t _feel_ responsible. 

He feels… When he scores and Tater accidentally slams him off his feet in celebration and is too busy yelling at the crowd to pick him up, he feels happy. When he is stuck doing press conference interviews, he feels annoyed because he is _missing things_ in the locker room. When Bitty smiles up at him and says “Good game, Jack,” he feels proud.

Before the games, he is excited instead of anxious; when they win, he feels satisfied instead of relieved; when they lose, he feels disappointed but not despondent. 

He feels like he is playing a game. A great game, that he loves and he feels like he can play it and that will be enough.

During the second game of the second round, J _ack doesn’t score._ The Falconers still win. They win and Jack doesn’t even think about how he let his team down because his team managed to do it without him. Because he didn’t score but Tater and Marty did and during the drive on the way home, Shitty talks about Jack’s passes in the same ridiculously dirty language that he usually reserves for Jack’s goals and Bitty gives him a massage later that night and remarks “Lord, I almost felt bad for their goalie. You lot were whipping pucks at his head all night. I would have let a couple in just to get you guys away from me.”

“I don’t think he let them in on purpose,” Jack mumbles. Bitty is sitting on his butt as he lays on his stomach and technically, it’s not a great massage, because when Bitty talks, he waves his right hand around and he keeps getting distracted and they both know that there is a strict “no strenuous sex during playoffs rule” and Jack is going to be asleep any minute, they know that too, but in this moment, before the playoffs are even over, he feels perfectly content.

He starts to worry he is getting too many of them: perfect moments, that is.

He gets the Falconers winning game 3 and 4 to make the second round a sweep. He gets a full five days in Providence while they wait for the other teams to finish up. He gets finally beating Holster at Madden and almost getting twenty kills in Halo. He gets having enough free time to go with Bitty to Annie’s; they both get a free coffee. He gets another ESPN segment on himself and his relationship with Bitty and he doesn’t have to watch it, but he hears it is all good things.

(He gets the satisfaction of Chad Melvin being released to free agency. He gets the party that the boys throw afterwards even though he does have to go to sleep midway through.)

He gets a text that Shitty, Holster, and Ransom all passed their finals and that Ransom maintained his 4.0. He gets to take all his roommates to a celebratory dinner that is not about him. He gets to brag about them during his “Day-off” interview. He gets the news that Shitty has decided to take some summer classes and that Dex is signing up for classes in the fall. 

He gets a quieter Bitty on Suzanne Bittle’s birthday but a happy Bitty on his birthday and a crying Bitty when he sees that his birthday present is a new top-of-the-line ridiculously expensive oven. 

He gets to play in the Stanley Cup Finals. 

They lose Game 1 at home, and then win two and then lose one, win one, lose another and it’s frustrating and terrifying and yet when it comes down to it--

“I think we really want to win this one at home,” Jack tells the press after Game 6. “Not that we didn’t want to win tonight, but after everything that’s happened this season… it would be really great to win this in Providence.”

*^*^*^

As soon as the playoffs started, Jack offered to get the ice crew tickets to the games so they wouldn’t have to work them if they just wanted to watch. His idea was met with pure horror by everyone and even when he offered to get them rinkside seats so they could still work but at least not be reduced to watching in the tiny break room, he had been yelled at and lectured _at length_ about hockey superstitions and traditions and, “Dear god, Jack. Are you _trying_ to throw this cup? Like do you even _want_ it??”

He still tries again before Game 7. He gets another lecture. This one with a powerpoint by Ransom and Holster. Lardo threatens to shave his playoff beard in his sleep. (Jack sleeps with his door locked.)

“Good luck,” Bitty tells him in the tunnel. “I love you.”

It makes no sense - this isn’t new information, it’s not the first time Bitty has said it, it’s not even a rare statement, but Jack clings to that the whole game. 

_He loves me_ , Jack thinks as he has seven shots on goal in the first period, one of which clangs off the goal post. _He loves me_ , Jack thinks when he is checked hard into the boards and is a hair slow getting up. _He loves me_ , Jack thinks when one of his shots finally goes _in_ and the crowd erupts. He’s smiling because of the goal, yes, but also a little bit because Bitty loves him. 

He thinks he forgets for a moment a few minutes later, when Jack slips for no real reason and suddenly the game is tied. But then the period is over and Bitty is smiling at him and--

 _Nice goal,_ Bitty mouths at him as they pass each other. 

Jack wants to get him another one. 

Tater scores right in the beginning of the third period and they are winning, Jack realizes. They are winning and time is passing and Bitty loves him and Bitty deserves two goals so--

Jack gets him one. With four minutes left in the game, Jack pushes himself forward into a one on two situation and cuts short and smacks it and it goes in.

Technically, there are four minutes left. Plenty of time for the game to slide into a tie, plenty of time for someone to make a mistake and for the Falconers to lose it all because this is hockey and all that can happen, but Jack will not let it. 

His team will not let it. 

Tater keeps landing clean hits on people and Poots is almost as fast as Bitty so Jack keeps feeding it to him so he can skate it away and waste time without the icing call and above all, Jack keeps playing offense. Tries to force them to keep their goalie in the net for as long as possible.

Two minutes left and the crowd is on its feet and the game is dragging on. Their goalie has left and it seems like every other play is an icing because at this point is it just _get the puck away from Snowy_ and time will _not_ pass and this is by far Jack’s least favorite part of any game but Eric Bittle loves him so it is okay. 

The clock hits zero and Jack is so focused that he misses it.

All he knows is that one second he is tracking the puck, telling himself not to bother worrying about the time, and the next he is being lifted off the ice by Tater and that is just the start of the huge pile-up because Jack has the sense to grab Snowy and Poots is next to him and Marty and Thirdy. Guy is grinning and Jack’s first Stanley Cup, it was _relief_ and _thank god_ but this is joy and happiness and Tater is crying and he doesn’t remember when his helmet got ripped off, only that it did. Jack still can’t see anything though - just a mess of Falconers’ uniforms and people keep leaping onto the pile and--

“Shake hands,” Jack manages finally. He’s lost track of how many people he’s hugged. “We gotta shake hands.” 

His first few attempts get drowned out completely but eventually his team listens and they skate up to shake hands with the other team and it’s then that Jack finally, _finally_ gets to see the ice crew.

They are standing on the edge of the rink. Shitty and Holster are crying and Chowder is screaming while Nursey and Dex hug. Ransom is on the ground apparently. Bitty is also crying, pressed into Shitty’s shoulder and there is a cameraman following Jack, Jack knows, he can see him right on the edge of his vision and it strikes him as ridiculous that that cameras got onto the ice but his ice crew didn’t and, more importantly, _Bitty_ didn’t and so he skates up with the intention of doing something about that.

Luckily, Shitty sees him coming and is _Shitty_ , so he pushes Bitty towards the entrance and the security guy stands aside and Bitty looks up at him, grinning and flushed and _proud_ and--

Jack kisses him. On the mouth and it’s passionate and it is most certainly being aired live but Jack doesn’t care one bit. When he can’t get Bitty close enough, he puts his arms on Bitty’s hips and _lifts_ and Bitty jumps and Jack is holding him and they are still kissing.

They keep kissing when the rest of the ice crew takes the ice and flies into them and they keep kissing when the Falconers join and it’s dangerous, Jack knows, for Bitty’s skates to be in the air while people slam into them from all sides so he has to put him down at some point.

He will.

Eventually.

For now he is content to pull away and laugh into Bitty’s neck, breathless with joy.

“I love you,” he says. He has to scream it to be heard. “It was for you, you know. All of it.”

Bitty smiles down at him and Shitty is crying again, holding Tater and crying, and the crowd hasn’t let up screaming for a moment but still Jack can hear when Bitty drops his head to press his forehead against Jack’s and--

“You are _ridiculous_.”

Jack knows that. 

He likes it. 

Being ridiculous.

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support throughout this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)
> 
> You can find more of my CP writing and/or ask me questions at petals42.tumblr.com!


	5. The Add-Ons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following three snippets are add-ons of this world, all based on asks taken from tumblr.   
> I apologize if you opened this thinking it was a new chapter or an epilogue. I am just trying to get my tumblr fics moved over here for safety/organizational purposes. 
> 
> This chapter includes: Bob and Alicia reacting as Jack asks to stay in Providence for Thanksgiving, What happened at the Hotel that Jack, Shitty, Bitty, Ransom, and Holster stayed at after grabbing Bitty's things in Chapter 3, and an exploration of what life is like for Kent Parson in this universe.

1\. Bad Bob and Alicia ([link to original tumblr post](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/142492946494/petals-petals-did-bob-and-alicia-dance-when))

> Question asked: Petals! Petals, did Bob and Alicia dance when their son blew them off for Thanksgiving? Did they lie in each other's arms because their baby made FRIENDS?!? Did they jump around? Did they cry? Petals!! It is 4am here and you made me emotional! Petals!! I am emotional!!!

I AM SO HAPPY YOU PICKED UP ON HOW THRILLED THE ZIMMERMANNS WERE ABOUT JACK’S FRIENDSHIP DEVELOPMENT!!!!!

I can 100% confirm that this is exactly what happened. They hung up, sat in silence for a moment and then…

“You- Bob, he has _friends_ ,” Alicia whispers, hand finally rising to her mouth in joyful shock. “He is _staying_  with them.”

“I know,” Bob says, and Alicia feels like she’s still in a state of shock, but Bob is already grinning and then he is up and gathering her into his arms and then- “He has _friends!!”_  She is up in the air at this point. In the air and being spun around and, goodness, it feels like ages since he’s done that and technically he is holding her a little to tight to be comfortable but she just giggles and thinks she wouldn’t mind even if he bashed her head into the ceiling (again).

“Oh,” she says when he finally puts her down. “Oh, I hope they like him, Bob. I hope–” She doesn’t let herself finish the sentence: _I hope they like him as much as he clearly likes them. I hope they aren’t using him. I hope they get his humor and make him laugh and–_

“They invited him to Thanksgiving,” Bob says. “American thanksgiving! And why wouldn’t they like him? He’s wonderful!”

Alicia hurries to nod because _obviously_  she knows her son is perfect, it’s just…

It’s just it’s been so hard for the rest of the world to see that. They see he is great at hockey and they talk about his achievements and how focused he is on the ice and no one outright says he doesn’t have any friends but words like “a little bit of a loner” or “tends to keep to himself” litter the articles written about him.

When he calls to update them, it is only ever about hockey. When they ask how his weekend was, he tells them he is “rested up and ready” for the next week’s games and over the summer he talks about “staying in shape” and even when he _won the Stanley Cup,_ he brought it home the next day and, yes, it was funny that he wanted to take a picture of him holding up Bob above it (”to recreate that old picture of me, eh?”) but no one was there to laugh about it but the two of them. 

“He-” Alicia tries, feeling like she’s being silly or overemotional but this was… this was something that she thought maybe they were both avoiding - for years now - and, “I was so worried, Bob. I… he’s so quiet and focused and I- it’s… he just talked to us for an _hour_.”

She is crying now. So happy she can barely contain it because her boy had finally sounded _excited_ and _happy_ and it’s all she’s ever wanted for him. 

“I know,” Bob says, readjusting his grip so that she can curl into his chest. “We never– I was worried too, Alicia.”

It’s a relief. To hear that. To know that it wasn’t just her and she wasn’t being crazy and maybe they should have talked about it but talking about it makes it real and it’s okay now because he is doing Thanksgiving with _friends_.

“They sound lovely,” Alicia says, reaching a hand up to wipe her eyes. 

“They sound insane,” Bob replies. “Completely mental - mooning him in a press conference! Teaching him to do jumps! Having _piggy back races_  while wearing _skates!”_

She leans back so she can stare up at him and smile.

“That’s what I meant.”

* * *

 

2\. The Hotel Stay after they get Bitty's things from his parents ([link to original tumblr post](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/144276409254/i-have-a-v-important-ice-crew-question-on-that))

 

> Question asked: I have a v. important Ice Crew question. On that drive back from Madison, when it was a great idea to shove 5 (mostly large) guys in 1 room, where did everyone sleep? But seriously, I still can't stop re-reading your beaut of a fic.

 

Well, I think the original plan was: Ransom and Holster in one; Shitty, Jack and Bitty in the other (”since we’ve all shared beds anyway, brahs!!!!” “when did you and bitty share a bed?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Oh, you LOVED it Bitty, don’t even.” “It was the first night I met him. I thought I was being kidnapped. Then he got naked.” “You needed to be warmed. You had been sleeping outside for _weeks_!” “It was one week. And it was summer, Shitty. There was no call for nakedness.”)

HOWEVER, the plan was derailed when they arrived to find that they had ended up with a room _with only one bed_. A king size bed, to be sure, but still… five guys are not going to fit in one bed.

Unless.

“A FIVE PERSON SPOON!” Shitty shouts. “OH MY GOD THIS MIGHT BE A RECORD!”

“I’ll go get–” Jack starts because there are other rooms available.

“JACK ZIMMERMANN, DO _NOT_ ,” Shitty says. 

“Bro, you can’t separate us!” Holster says, Ransom nodding solemnly behind him. “We have been through a harrowing day!”

“He’s right,” Shitty says. “And in this trying time, it is vital we stay together.”

“Y’all,” Bitty says. “It was not even–”

“Hush,” Shitty says. “Save your voice for the giant spoon. Tis when the secrets come out.”

“I don’t think-” Jack tries again but the others are already changing into Pajamas and Bitty is giggling, the anxious line of his shoulders loosening, and so– “Fine. Everyone has to wear clothes.”

“I CALL MIDDLE,” Shitty yells. And then he is sprinting towards the bathroom to brush his teeth first - or he tries, Ransom and Holster tackle him and Jack thinks he is going to get to go first by stepping around them but he doesn’t account for Holster’s wingspan and he finds his ankle trapped and he falls to the ground and–

In the end, Bitty leaps over the pile of them, uses the bathroom first and then secures a spot on the edge of the bed as “I am too small to spoon anyone!” Jack ends up curled around him and maybe it would feel intimate but Shitty slots himself around Jack, talking loudly about his butt and how it should be classified a wonder of the world and Jack has to roll over to try and bat him away because Shitty is _playing drums on his ass._  This motion somehow pops Holster off the bed and that causes _another_  fight.

None of them sleep for more than a few hours at a time. The night is spent shoving each other and then talking and laughing and debating ridiculous topics and then trying different configurations and Shitty was right– Secrets do come out in the giant spoon.

It is one of the best nights of Jack’s life. 

 

* * *

 

 

3\. Kent Parson in the Ice Crew verse ([link to original tumblr post](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/142739939044/question-on-the-ice-crew-au-how-would-kent-parson))

 

> Question asked: Question on the ice crew au- how would Kent Parson treat his ice crew? ((((can we expect him in the pt. 2?))))
> 
>  

So, tbh, I had not thought about Kent Parson in the Ice Crew AU world bc in my head he sort of doesn’t exist…

But, let’s assume he does exist (though he and Jack didn’t play together on the Q) and going with more my canon thoughts on Parse, I would have to say that Kent Parson may be one of the loneliest people in the whole world.

Except, very very differently from Jack. Jack never saw the point of putting on a mask of happiness, of caring about anything other than hockey, of pretending but–

Kent Parson is probably buddies with _all_  the members of his team. He probably goes out to lunch after practice and goes out to bars after games and he is the most charismatic hockey-bro to ever exist and as such, he doesn’t really talk to his ice crew at all. If he sees them in the hallway, he probably gives them a “hey, what’s up, man?” because _everyone_  passing Kent Parson in the hallway gets a “hey, what’s up, man?” but Parse never slows down to hear the answer (and if they manage to say “good you?” Parse will keep walking and smiling and say some variation of “awesome” or “going good!” or “ready for this next one!”)

(Parson always keeps walking and smiling. He’s always awesome.)

So the ice crew of the Aces likes Kent Parson the way _everyone_  in Las Vegas likes Kent Parson. He’s funny and personable and great at hockey and, dear god, he’s so fucking lonely he doesn’t know what to do, but he knows to hide it.

(He has to hide it. No one can know.)

Kent Parson sleeps with girls when he can’t get out of it. He flirts with them always. He “dates” supermodels for a few months at a time to get people off his case and tells reporters (with a smile and an bashful head duck that he knows is adorable) that his “ideal night” is “doing something small and romantic with a beautiful woman who can make me laugh and doesn’t mind my terrible cooking.”

(Really, his ideal night is staying out until 3am with his teammates and then going home and snuggling up with his cat and passing out before he can think about how empty his apartment is.)

(He doesn’t let himself think about what his _actual_  ideal night would be. Never.)

Kent Parson doesn’t let himself take those type of risks. He doesn’t get too drunk in front of his teammates. He doesn’t try to sneak to gay bars and hook up that way. He wipes his computer history every time he watches porn (and never saves any of it) and jokes just the right amount about his “bromance” with his teammates and prays, prays, _prays_  that no one will ever figure out how rehearsed it all is. How rehearsed _he_  is. 

(He whispered it aloud to Kitt Purson once. At 11am in the morning on his day off as she purred against his chest and for no real reason, tears were pricking against his eyelids, he’d just _said_  it: _I’m gay. I’m gay and I hate this._  He hadn’t let himself cry for long, had blinked in tears until they cooled the stripe of heat behind his eyes and stared at the ceiling and willed the headache to go away and she’d stayed and let him hold her a little too tightly and he thinks that maybe its all for the best, that he couldn’t love anyone as much as he loves her in that moment.)

(He snaps a picture of her and uploads it to instagram with the caption t _he only girl I’ll ever need_  and to half the internet it is an adorable joke and to the other half it’s proof he’s still upset about Bethany Albright, the latest actress he’d broken up with and they ruin it somehow. With their stupid comments and tweets and buzzfeed articles. Still, he smiles when a reporter asks about it and twists it into a joke and he’s okay, he’s okay, he can do this.)

Sometimes he can’t do it though. There are… moments. Moments like the one at his house. Sometimes it in the middle of a press conference and he misses questions completely because he gets caught in a day dream of “What if I just told them right now? What if I just said it? What would happen?” and it’s embarrassing when he has to ask them to repeat the question but he smiles and they forgive him.

(They’ll forgive him so much. But not that. Probably not that.)

Sometimes it’s in the middle of a game. He’ll get a goal and there will be a celly and for no reason at all, he’ll think _they don’t know me_  and it’s rare but that’s when Kent likes to drop his gloves and get in a fight. The sting helps and the taste of blood focuses him and at least it gets him in the box for a few minutes so he can remind himself to stop being a goddamn piece of shit and get his head in the game. 

Mostly though, it’s after. It when the boys are celebrating in the locker room and he is pulled into quick hugs and everyone is _happy_  and Kent _wants_  to be happy and he is, he tries to be, but the guys file out and he goes to do press and then he comes back when the locker room is empty and sometimes he just takes a shower again. Sometimes he stays in there for almost an hour. One time he’d hit the wall until his hand was bruised but he iced it and played through the pain and it was fine. No one noticed. 

One time, he stays in there long enough that a member of the ice crew (on his way home) hears the shower running and assumes that someone left it on.

Of course, the shower is not empty. No, Kent Parson is still there, naked, a bruise across his shoulder from being checked that stands out against his skin dark and angry and it’s going to be sore tomorrow, and–

“Oh my god!” the guy- Will - Will says, slamming his eyes closed. “Sorry, I thought it was a mistake, sorry, sorry!”

“No problem,” Kent Parson says, grinning, turning off the water, and grabbing a towel. “Really. I got to thinking about the game and lost track of time.”

“It really was great,” Will says, eyes still closed. “So awesome- that goal in the second period, fucking fantastic. Uh, I mean - great. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You can open your eyes,” Parse replies, forcing himself to stop staring and enjoying the flush that is spreading across the man’s cheeks despite his dark complexion. “And thanks. It was a fun goal.”

Will obeys slowly, popping one eye open, seeing that Parse has the towel wrapped around his waist and then opening the other. 

“ _So_  cool,” he says again. “And sorry. I’ll just get out of your way. Calley is waiting for me in the car. Just thought someone left the shower on.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Parse says. And then because he’s the _cool_  celebrity, he’s the nice one, the fun one, he adds “Is Calley the cute girl who is on the ice crew?”

He’d seen her. Dark brown pony tail. He hadn’t really noticed much more but the guys on the team think she’s banging.

Crap, he probably should have said hot. He tries to recover. He shouldn’t have made the mistake in the first place.

“Got a hot date tonight?” There. That sounds appropriately bro-ish. This is a bad time. He usually doesn’t have to think so much.

“Oh, no,” the guy says, still a little flustered, Parse can tell. A little shocked that Kent Parson is talking to him. “No, I’m gay.”

The smile stays on his face because Kent Parson is good at this. He ducks his head into a nod and says,

“Good for you, bro,” and hopes that he managed to keep the raw wistfulness from his voice. 

At least he gets to turn and pretend to focus on putting on clothes; at least Will leaves soon after; at least no one is there when Kent crumples down on the bench and sits and fists his hands in his hair and pulls and at least no one is there to watch him struggle to catch his breath and at least no one notices that he doesn’t leave for another twenty minutes.

At least he’s okay by the time he gets home. 

At least he tells himself that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry if you got excited without cause!

**Author's Note:**

> For a few more of my check please fics and countless lists of headcanons, check out my tumblr @petals42!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
